


Just Breathe

by JCRGirl



Series: Just Breathe [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCRGirl/pseuds/JCRGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's off on a hunt and leaves Dean to deal with a sick Sam. As Dean copes with Sam's illness, he learns about a father's betrayal and that sometimes trusting others is the only way to keep Sam safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Faith Hill song. Unbeta'd. Not just another sick!Sam fic, I swear.

Mrs. Peabody looked up from the papers she was marking at the sound of a rattling cough. Her eyes passed over the empty seats (10 today, 2 more than yesterday) to focus on the students presently hunched over their desks taking their Chapter 5 test. The majority of them were bleary eyed and red nosed with pocket packets of tissues on their desk. Anyone of them could be the owner of the cough that kept distracting her from the earlier class’ tests in front of her. This year’s cold and flu season had hit Marion High hard, leaving some classes ½ full and the hallways a minefield of germs as people passed in a cacophony of sneezes, sniffles and coughs. She sighed and returned to the tests, marking her third ‘D’ in a row and adding it to the completed pile. It was becoming painfully obvious that cold medicine and Chemistry did not mix.

A short time later as she flipped the top exam, a C+, over to begin on the next, a shadow passed across her desk. She raised her gaze to take the outstretched paper from the student and was shocked at what her eyes met. Sam Winchester stood before her, his healthily tanned skin was pale and drawn and his normally bright, inquisitive eyes, dull and glassy. Using the hand not offering his finished exam, he covered his mouth as a coughing fit shook his thin frame and Mrs. Peabody’s lungs ached in sympathy. She took the test and watched as he walked back to his seat, swaying before righting himself. 

“Sam,” she called softly, mindful of the students still working.

“Yes, ma’am?” As he turned back to her, his eyes closed and he spread his arms slightly.

“I think you need to go see the nurse,” Mrs. Peabody replied quietly.

“I’m okay. It’s only a few more hours until school is out.” He smiled wanly stifling another cough behind stubbornly closed lips.

“Sam,” she leveled him with a firm look, “you’re not well. Do you need me to escort you to the nurse’s office?”

“No ma’am,” he said, head hanging low.

 

*****

 

Fred walked out of his office toward a blue Honda Civic at station 1 and playfully kicked the legs sticking out from underneath the front end.

“De,” he grunted.

Dean twisted the plug tighter into the oil pan and grumbled under his breath _. Dean, his name was Dean. Its one syllable, how hard is it to say one syllable._ Damn, he was in a bad mood. Normally stuff like this didn’t bother him, but today…Taking a breath he rolled himself out, wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls.

“Yeah”

“Marge is on the phone for you.” Fred peered over the open engine to check on Dean’s progress.

“Marge,” Dean questioned, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, you know in the office over at the high school.” Fred looked at Dean like he was stupid. 

“Oh, okay,” Dean grunted as he pulled himself to his feet and walked into Fred’s office _. Shit! Kid better not be in trouble._ Dean didn’t think his mood could take having to talk to the principal today. 

Stepping up to the small desk, Dean surveyed the top looking for the phone. As far as he knew, no one had ever actually seen the top of Fred’s desk. Every square inch was covered by heaping stacks of bill and invoices, despite the gleaming new computer on the corner. Fred’s wife had insisted he buy it to modernize the business, but so far Fred had been resistant and was using the computer as an oversized paperweight. Dean found the receiver between some parts order forms and work requests and carefully picked it up hoping not to disturb the piles and cause a dominoed avalanche.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Winchester, this is Marge over at the high school. We have Samuel up here and he’s not feeling well. We think he should go home for the day.” The woman’s voice was professional but clearly laced with a motherly tone.

“He that sick?” Dean’d known Sam had been fighting a cold for the past week, his sleep interrupting cough last night a main contributor to Dean’s mood, but he’d seemed okay when Dean had last talked to him. Maybe a little tired, but nothing some rest wouldn’t cure. Granted that was yesterday afternoon. Dean had a date last night and when he got home Sam was already asleep. This morning when he woke up, Sam had already left for school.

“He insists he can walk home, but I believe it’s in his best _interest_ for someone to come get him,” she answered. Ah, motherly was coming out in full force now and was pushing the line into busy-body. 

“Okay. Let me talk to him,”

Dean could hear the woman calling Sam’s name and some shuffling as the phone was passed.

“Dean,” a raspy voice came over the line.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, look man. They’re practically forcing me to go home. I know you’re at work. I can walk, it’s no big deal,” Same croaked out, his voice weakening as he spoke until it morphed into a rattling coughing fit at the end. 

_Crap, he sounds awful._ Well, that settled that.

“Stay there. I’m coming,” Dean said once Sam’s coughs had quieted where he could be heard and he hung up before Sam could protest further.

 

*****

 

Marion High was your typical high school and Dean had been in enough that the banal white walls and linoleum floors were expected. However, Marion’s “Purple Panther Pride” – no shit it said it on the sign out front – was prominently on display as each door, locker and stairwell was painted in the school accent color, a shade of purple akin to grape Kool-Aid. It looked like Barney had exploded everywhere. Dean followed the information signs, also in purple, to the front office as he hummed Barney’s theme song under his breath.

Opening the door, Dean walked up to the purple chest high countertop that separated school staff from students and visitors and smiled at the woman behind it. “I’m Dean Winchester. I’m here to pick up my brother.”

“Samuel, right,” the woman smiled back cheerily. “I’m Marge. I think we spoke on the phone.”

“Yeah, um, can you direct me to _Samuel_ , please,” Dean asked politely. Marge looked just as much of a busy body as she had sounded on the phone.

“I have him lying down in the back. One second and I’ll grab him.” She smiled again and headed to a room at the back of the office.

Dean looked at the multi-colored flyers littering the billboard to his left as his fingers tapped out the beginnings of Thunderstruck on the counter.  At least he didn’t have ‘I love you, you love me’ stuck in his head anymore. He turned when he heard Marge return and caught sight of Sam. His brother looked worse than he had sounded on the phone. His face was pale and his body was hunched over in what Dean had learned long ago was Sam’s _very sick_ posture. Hell, even the kid’s normally unruly hair was hanging limp like it too was ill to rebel. If Dean needed further confirmation of Sam’s health, the cough that racked Sam’s whole body took care of that.

“C’mon, Sam. Let’s get you home,” Dean said soothingly, holding the door open for him.

 

*****

 

Dean ushered Sam into the small two bedroom house they were renting. The car ride had been quiet, punctuated periodically by Sam’s continued coughing.

“Are you going to be okay if I go back to work or do you need me to stay?” he asked, more than a little worried as he watched Sam sway on his feet in the small living room. He couldn’t remember a time Sam had looked this bad, but Dad wasn’t due back until the end of the month at the earliest and they needed the money from his job to pay the rent and buy groceries

“Dean, I’m fine. I wouldn’t have let them call you, but I wasn’t sure if that Marge woman would cause problems. I’m going to do my homework then go to bed,” Sam sat his bag on the coffee table and began to unpack his books.

“Alright man, but let me fix you something to eat and get you some medicine before I head back out.”

“Not hungry,” Sam murmured, bending over to pick up a pencil that had fallen out of his bag onto the floor. Straightening up, his eyes unfocused and he faltered. Grabbing the arm of the couch, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Whoa, easy tiger.” Dean placed a steadying hand on Sam’s back. “I think you should go lay down now.”

Sam shrugged off Dean’s hand.”Gotta’ English test tomorrow. I need to study.”

“How ‘bout this,” Dean countered,” you lay down until I get home from work and then you can study…if you’re better.”

Sam looked at his brother’s concerned eyes and his shoulders slumped. Nodding his head slightly, he allowed Dean to cup his elbow and lead him to their room. He was surprised when he sat down on his bed and Dean knelt in front of him and began unlacing his boots. Sam thought it was a testament to how worried Dean was about him. His older brother always took care of him, but this was almost coddling which Dean hadn’t done since Sam was small. Dean stood, pulling Sam to his feet, and helped him change from his jeans to his sleep pants. Tugging on the hem of his hoodie, he looked up when Sam stilled his hands. 

“C-cold,” Sam stuttered through chattering teeth and Dean let go of the sweatshirt. Shivers vibrated Sam’s whole body, exhaustion pressing on him like a heavy weight, as Dean manipulated his compliant body under the covers.

“I’ll be right back with some medicine. Don’t fall asleep yet, bitch.” Dean’s tried to mask his unease with the teasing words as he pulled the covers over Sam’s shaking form. A muffled “jerk” followed him out the door. 

Dean rummaged through the first aid kit, pushing aside bottles of codeine and oxycotin and vials of morphine to get to the lone bottle of cough syrup near the bottom. After filling the dosing cup, he returned to their room to find a sound asleep Sam. Watching his brother’s sleep-slackened face, he set the medicine on the bedside table, jotted a quick note and went back to work.

*****

 

Dean cursed as his grip on the front doorknob reopened the large gashes across the knuckles of his index, middle and ring fingers. Pushing the door open, he shook his hand trying to fling the sting from his fingers like water drops.

“Sammy?” The house was dim, the waning twilight spilling over only a few feet from each windowsill, the blue-white light not strong enough to banish the darkness from the interior of the room.

Getting no answer, Dean waked to their room. Sam was still in bed asleep where Dean had left him earlier with the exception that he was now facing the far wall. The medicine cup lay neglected and full on the table. Apparently, Sam had slept through the afternoon.

_That bug’s really knocked him down this time._

Sam shifted in his sleep, rolling over onto the side towards Dean. He whimpered softly and settled on his back, the movement dislodging the blankets from around his feet. Dean’s eyes traveled over Sam’s bundled body. It still caught him by surprise that his kid brother wasn’t a kid anymore. In the last year, Sam had come into his own, growing taller so fast it gave Dean growing pains just watching and developing muscles realizing their potential under John’s regimented training. Dean had heard TV and movie Moms lament that their children grew up before their eyes and for the first time he understood what that meant.

Sam fidgeted, rearranging his long legs under the blanket and rubbed his exposed feet together. Dean quietly walked over to the end of the bed and gently tugged the blankets back over Sam’s long feet.  Securing the covers, Dean felt the tremors going through Sam’s body. His eyes shot up to take in his baby brother’s face for the first time since coming home from work. Sam’s chestnut hair was damp, the ends curling to stick to his cheeks, forehead and neck. His face was still ghostly except for two flushed spots, one on each cheek. Dean moved to the head of the bed and placed the inside of his forearm to Sam’s forehead. _Christ, Sam’s fever from earlier had worsened_. Dean went into the bathroom, the first aid duffle still open on the chipped counter, and unzipping the side pouch, pulled the thermometer out. 

Back in the bedroom, he gently placed the conical tip in Sam’s exposed ear and pressed the button. As he waited, Dean brushed the sweaty bangs from Sam’s brow and smiled when Sam turned slightly into the touch. Even asleep, Sam knew Dean’s touch and took comfort. The thermometer beeped and Dean’s heart clenched at the flashing digital display; 102.9. Tossing the device down on the bed table, Dean went to the bathroom again and got a glass of water and something for Sam’s fever. 

“Sam. Sam, wake up.” Dean shook his brother’s shoulder gently. “Come on. I need you to wake up for me.” Sam groaned softly as his eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

“Sam!” Dean dropped the timber of his voice to command mode and like a Pavlovian response, Sam’s eyes snapped open.

“Huh,” Sam slurred as his gaze struggled to focus.

“Take this. You’re burning up.” Dean pushed the two small pills into Sam’s hand and waited for him to sit up before handing over the glass of water.  Downing the pills, Sam gave the glass of water back and burrowed back under the blankets, shivering again. 

“C’mon. I’m putting you in the bath to try and bring this fever down.” 

Sam squawked when Dean tugged the covers off his already cold body. He pulled Sam’s lithe frame to his feet and helped walk him across the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, Dean filled the tub then turned to the task of getting Sam undressed. Sam’s hands landed on his chest and at first Dean thought Sam was steadying himself against his body. It took a few minutes to realize that Sam was trying to push Dean away.

“Not a child. Can shower by myself.” Sam pushed Dean’s hands from the edge of his hoodie.

“Sam, don’t be stupid. You can barely stand. Let me help you.” Dean grabbed the sweatshirt determined to get it over Sam’s head.

Sam slapped his hand again. “I’m fine. If I need your help, I’ll call for you.”

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Fine, but you fall and crack your fool head open, I’ll leave you there to bleed to death. Remember, cool water not hot.”

Sam snorted as Dean walked out. He crossed to their bedroom to get Sam clean clothes and went back into the bathroom to place them on the toilet. He watched Sam’s silhouette through the curtain before leaving again to take up a position just on the other side of the door. He needed to be close for when (not if) Sam needed him. Ten minutes later, Sam reappeared fully dressed, hair shower damp, and shuffled toward the living room. Dean anticipated Sam’s course and caught up to him before he reached his open bookbag.

“Back to bed.” Dean turned his brother back to the direction of their bedroom.

“I gotta’ study…”

“You gotta’ rest,” Dean interrupted. ”You’ll be no good tomorrow if you’re half dead.”

Dean placed Sam in bed and made him take the medicine that had sat sentinel next to him all day on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and watched as his brother’s eyes gradually closed and his breathing evened out into the deep pattern of sleep. Getting up, he spared Sam one last glance then went to the living room to watch television. 

Several hours later, Dean came in and got undressed for bed. He quietly walked over to Sam’s bed and gently felt his forehead, grateful that Sam’s fever seemed to have tempered. Dean looked over at his empty bed and back to Sam’s contemplating for only a moment before climbing in next to his brother. A feeling of nostalgia swept over Dean, memories of nights nursing a younger sick Sam springing to his mind. Feeling sleep pulling him under, Dean laid his arm protectively across Sam’s chest, his lazily blinking eyes missing the flinch of the already sleeping man next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was in the place that exists between asleep and awake. That sliver of time when reality bled into the playground of the subconscious lending tangible element to the otherwise bizarre events of dreams. He was somewhere warm and peaceful, like lying in the sun on a Spring day, but then the sun must have gone behind a cloud because suddenly the air felt cold and empty. He shifted, seeking out the warmth again, but something was wrong…missing. Trying to determine what he’d lost, a familiar smell wafted through the chilly space and lulled him toward wakefulness. 

Dean’s eyes opened slowly to the gray light that preludes dawn and he looked around disorientated. He knew it was early and that he was in his room, but everything seemed off. Knuckles dug deep into sleep crusted eyelids and he blinked rapidly once the pressure was released trying to make sense of his surroundings. The confusion dissipated when he realized he was in Sam’s bed and seeing everything from the wrong side of their room. Sam was up already, the familiar scent that had roused him was coffee brewing rich and warm in the kitchen. The medicine he gave Sam the night before seemed to have served its purpose and allowed his brother some rest. A happy by-product was Dean had slept well for the first night since Sam came down with this cold. The clock on the table showed 5:14 in bright red and Dean couldn’t contain the grumble about the ungodly hour. 

_Come on! 5:14 in the freaking morning!_

Groaning, he swung his legs out from under the body heated blankets; feet jumping reflexively when they came in contact with the cold wood floor. He stood up and headed in the direction of the kitchen and the promise of caffeine. 

Stumbling through the doorway, Dean could see Sam’s text books and papers spread messily over the entire surface of the kitchen table.  Little brother had apparently gotten up early to do his homework before school. Sam stood at the counter, his body hunched over and supported by his hands against the speckled Formica, watching as the coffee maker brewed their daily pot of ‘give a damn’.  

“Morning.” Sam startled at the greeting, so entranced by the rhythmic dripping of coffee into the glass decanter that he hadn’t heard Dean enter the room. He nodded his head in response, without turning his attention away from the small appliance in front of him. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Dean asked his brother’s curved shoulders. Sam just shrugged in answer and that was about all the nonverbal communication Dean could take. He walked over to where Sam was now pouring coffee into two stained mugs and waited until Sam reseated the decanter on the warmer before pulling on his shoulder forcing Sam to face him.

“What’s going on? Why won’t you talk to me?” Sam’s eyes were glassy and sunken into his head, his skin gray.

“Sam?” Dean put steadying hands on Sam’s shoulders when he began to list to one side. At the reaffirming touch, Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp in his brother’s arms. 

Dean realized what was happening in time to support Sam and guide them both to the ground. His arms surrounded his brother’s body and he could feel the heat radiating from him. Dean leaned over and placed his cheek to Sam’s forehead. He was on fire, the fever worse than yesterday.   _Shit!_  It’s then that he heard it; a sound he wouldn’t have detected if his face wasn’t so close to Sam’s slightly parted lips. Crackling. Dean could hear crackling each time Sam exhaled. _Shit, Shit!_ This was not good. He had to get Sam to a doctor. 

Shifting Sam in his arms for a better grip, he saw his brother flinch and a small groan escaped Sam’s lips as he instinctively try to move away from where Dean’s hands held his side. Something about the night before tugged at Dean’s mind as questions started to form. _Sam was hurt? He was in pain?_ The tug became a pull as Dean remembered Sam rolling on his side the previous night before whimpering and lying on his back. The same side that Dean’s hands were on now. Bending his knees so his legs could support Sam’s weight, Dean unbuttoned and pushed aside his brother’s flannel shirt and lifted the hem of the t-shirt beneath. Pulling the soft cotton up, Dean’s knuckles skirted over fever heated skin until they... didn’t. Dean looked down to see bandaging and tape around his brother’s ribcage _. Fuck!_

Dean knew it. _Dammit!_ He knew Sam had been hurt worse on that last hunt than he’d let on. Adjusting their position on the floor so he could lean against the cabinets, Dean flung his arm above his head and groped blindly for the knob to the junk drawer. His fingers dug through the contents searching by feel for the scissors he saw in there yesterday. Finally, his hand curled around the plastic loop handles and he pulled them out, careful not to drop them on either himself or Sam. The bandages were wrapped tight and Dean had to wiggle the scissor blade, always mindful of the skin below, to get it underneath the edge. He cut it away to reveal Sam’s bony ribcage and a curse stuck in his throat. The entire right side was mottled black and blue and Dean’s stomach clenched with the intimate knowledge of how much that hurt. He gritted his teeth as the gut wrenching worry he felt was superseded by another, stronger emotion. He wasn’t mad. No, he had catapulted straight past mad to pissed. He was pissed at Sam for hiding something this serious. He was pissed at himself for not following his instincts and forcing his little brother to let him check for injuries. But more importantly, for the first time in his life, he was pissed at Dad.

They’d been living in this Podunk town, so far west in North Carolina it was almost Tennessee, for close to three months now. John had been present for a grand total of 6 days of those three months and the visits consisted mainly of one day “reload and recover” layovers between hunts. That was until last Friday. John had gotten wind of a possible werewolf roaming an area just a little over 10 miles from the house they were renting and by Saturday at sundown, the three Winchesters were trudging up the side of a mountain referred to affectionately by the locals as Baby Brother (which coincidentally sat next to Big Brother…go figure).  The rain had come in earlier that day and brought a drastic drop in temperature with it, leaving the trio cold and miserable.  Dean could hear Sam trying to muffle the slight cough he’d picked up the day before and couldn’t help but worry about the weather’s effect on his brother’s cold. 

They’d been tracking the thing for just over six hours when John signaled he was going to check out something a little further up the incline and for the boys to stay put. Dean and Sam walked the perimeter of the small landing where they’d been left while they waited for John to return with further instructions. Circling the area, about 15 feet in diameter, their training kicked in subconsciously as they fell into a steady, synchronized pace that consistently kept them across the outcrop from each other. Sam had just come back around to the side that faced the downslope when he heard a noise, the barest sound of rustling leaves. He turned around in time to see movement in the wooded area midway between them and to his right. Something was there and from the amount of underbrush displaced, it was something large. He looked over at his brother, who hadn’t noticed anything yet, and opened his mouth to signal him when a blur shot out of the tree line and raced toward Dean.  Instinct took over as Sam raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The shot hit its mark, but the beast had been running parallel to Sam and the bullet lodged in its side. The shot hadn’t killed it, only stopped it for a moment, but _had_ successfully made it mad.  Before Dean had fully turned toward the danger, the werewolf was up on four legs and now headed at Sam in a full run. Sam sank down to one knee so that he was level with the thing and waited another heartbeat until the monster was only five feet from him before he shot again, hitting the join between the shoulder and neck. The werewolf reared up on his back legs, arms spread, as its growl shook the calm night. Sam only got the briefest glimpse of Dean taking aim from the other side of the clearing before he pulled the trigger for the third time, piercing the creature’s heart. It fell forward into Sam who hadn’t realized how close he was to the edge of the landing and with the added weight was thrown off balance over the lip.

Dean had heard Sam’s first shot and when he turned to see what Sam was firing at, his eyes were met with the sight of the werewolf getting to its feet and running at his brother. He pulled his gun up and aimed as Sam’s second bullet hit the animal causing it raise up on its back legs. Dean’s eyes locked with Sam’s as he steadied his gun, but before he could pull the trigger Sam’s third shot echoed through the air. Dean could tell immediately that his baby brother’s last bullet had been a kill shot and he had a fleeting moment to relax before he saw the ugly bastard fall forward and push Sam over the side. 

Dean’s mind got as far as _oh God_ before it completely checked out, senses shutting down to prevent him from using them to supplement his memories of their earlier trek up, each exposed rock and thick tree trunk, to create images of what might have happened to Sam once he went over the side. Except for his sight which had narrowed to the exact point he last saw his brother. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, probably no more than a few seconds, before his brain came back on-line and his body began to move. As he neared the edge, he could hear his Father crashing through the trees behind him, calling to him and Sam. Dean peered over, thankful for the pale full moon light, and was able to make out two figures, one further down the slope than the other. John sprinted into the clearing and Dean heard his orders for him to ‘stay put’ and ‘wait’, but ignored them. John didn’t matter, only Sam mattered and he was hurt and needed Dean.  He descended, sliding in patches where the leaves covered the ground in a thicker layer, until he was close to the first body. He approached cautiously with his gun raised even though he was fairly certain that Sam’s last shot had killed the werewolf. Narrowing the gap between him and the prone figure, he heard a soft, familiar groan and rushed over, dropping to his knees. 

“Sam! Sam, talk to me. Are you hurt?” Dean’s hands shook as he rolled Sam over to examine him. 

“Dean! You got him?” John’s voice came from close behind him. At Dean’s weak ‘yes’, John continued down the hill to the werewolf’s still form.

“Sam,” Dean called again. Sam’s eyes fluttered and then opened.

“Sam, you okay?” Dean put a hand on his chest, trying to keep Sam from sitting up.

“My side hurts like a bitch,” Sam murmured, pushing Dean’s restraining hand away and getting to his feet. Dean stood and moved forward to pull Sam’s shirt up for a look when John came back.

“Sam! What were you thinking?” John’s deep voice reverberated off the surrounding trees, making both boys jump. “You let that thing get too close before you shot it and it nearly killed you! Can you tell me why it took you three shots? Two of those weren’t even close to fatal.” 

John didn’t wait for Sam’s response before he rounded on his oldest, “Dean, I’m going to take care of the body. You get him back and cleaned up. Apparently he needs more practice, I want him out back at 6am for target shooting.”

“Dad,” Dean started.  John hadn’t been close enough to see what had happened. Sam hadn’t used three bullets because he couldn’t aim, but because he’d had angles on the creature that made it impossible to kill it with the first two shots. Hell, Sam’s first shot had probably saved Dean’s life. He glanced over at Sam and saw a mirror of the angry flush he knew covered his own face and neck on his little brother.

“That’s an order, Dean. It’s not open for debate. You’ve already disobeyed me once. I don’t suggest you do it again.” John spared one more hardened glance at Sam before stalking off in the direction of the werewolf again.

Dean took a steadying breath and moved toward his brother. “Let me see your side before we start back to the car,” he said making a vague gesture in the vicinity of Sam’s torso.

“I’m fine. Just bruised it.” Sam walked uphill a little ways to where his gun lay after being knocked from his grip during his tumble down the hillside.

“Seemed like a lot worse than a bruise a minute ago,” Dean argued.

“Dean, its fine.” Sam’s flat, monotone voice spoke greater volumes than the actual words. Dean knew his little brother better than anyone else alive and he knew that his chance at checking Sam’s injuries now were slim to none. Dean had the privilege of living with two of the most stubborn people to ever grace this world and after their father’s chastising, Sam would rather die than let Dean nurture him.

Dean shook himself out of the memory at that last thought. He looked down at his still unconscious brother, shaking and burning up with a fever, and his emotions see-sawed back from anger to worry. Sam needed a hospital; Dean would deal with his anger after he was certain that Sam was okay. He cradled his brother’s head and lowered it to the dingy linoleum floor. Standing up, he ran to their bedroom and quickly tugged on a pair of jeans and the first shirt he put his hands on. He hop-stumbled down the hallway, trying to shove on his boots without falling over. Pulling Sam’s lax body up, Dean gently picked him up into a modified fireman carry, thankful that Sam was already dressed for school. Steps faltering under the added weight, he got this brother into the backseat of the Impala with a minimum of issue and jumped into the front seat, speeding the 20 miles toward the closest town with a hospital.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had regained consciousness periodically during the forty _fucking_ minutes it took to get to the hospital in Ashton. From the backseat, he’d talked - or rather mumbled – incessantly during his more lucid periods as his mind slipped in and out of a fevered haze. Most of the time it was a random fact or a piece of a memory, spouted out of the blue, breaking the silence and startling Dean before he went back under. One time, the longest he was awake for, he began by asking Dean whether he knew that there was a bag of rock salt shoved under the front seat, which led to Sam enlightening Dean on the chemical composition of salt, that segued into metabolic responses to poisoning, then somehow became a recount of trivial facts about the Battle of Gettysburg and finally, before Sam passed out again, musings on why they never hunted battle fields since there had to be some serious ghost activity. Dean sighed and wondered if that jumbled stream of consciousness was what Sam’s head was like all the time. No wonder the kid was the way he was, if his brain worked like that he’d be a little neurotic too. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat, his left butt cheek numb from sitting in one position too long. So far they’d been in the Emergency Room for two hours. The last time he’d seen his brother had been over an hour ago when someone came in to take Sam to x-ray and Dean was shown to the waiting room. With each minute that ticked by the need to see Sam and reassure himself that his brother was going to be okay was becoming unbearable and looking around for a distraction was no help. All he could see was varying shades of yellow: yellow walls, floors, chairs, curtains, trim. Hell, the fake flowers on the table in the corner were yellow under a quarter inch of dust. T _hat just can’t be healthy_! Someone somewhere must have thought it would make the hospital seem cheery but really it just looked jaundiced. 

_Who wanted to be treated in a facility that looked as sick as its patients? What was wrong with these people…purple high schools and yellow hospitals? What did they have against plain old white? White was a perfectly acceptable color_. _He’d seen plenty of places that thought white was wonderful. So what was these people’s deal?_  Dean pulled himself out of his mental rant before it could gather too much steam. Maybe that stream of consciousness rambling thing was hereditary.

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean’s name brought him out of his thoughts as he looked up at Sam’s doctor standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.  Trying to remember his name - _Dr. Brady, Dr. Bland, Dr. Something -_ , he approached the man when he motioned for Dean to follow him. Instead of leading him back to Sam’s bed, Dean was ushered into a small room with a sign on the door that read “Family Consultation Room”. 

“Is everything alright? Where’s Sam?” Dean couldn’t keep the nerves from bleeding into his voice and they betrayed the neutral mask he’d worn since arriving at the hospital.  He didn’t like that he wasn’t back at Sam’s side and something about the doctor’s expression made the worry in his stomach tighten.

“Mr. Winchester, Sam is asleep. He became… agitated after his x-ray so we gave him a sedative. “ 

“Agitated?” Dean’s worry hit an epic scale. What the hell happened that Sam would become _agitated_?

“Mr. Winchester. I need to talk to you about Sam. We found some wide spread bruising on Sam’s right side during our examination and the x-ray confirmed that he has three broken ribs. Do you know how Sam might have sustained those injuries?” The doctor never looked up from the chart he was reading and Dean got the impression that the physician was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

Dean took a breath to calm the panic twisting his insides. The first thing John had taught his sons about dancing around the truth with professionals was to never oversell the lie. Answering too quickly gave the impression that the story was rehearsed so Dean hesitated and put on his best ‘I’m trying to remember’ face. “We went hiking up Little Brother last Saturday and Sam lost his footing,” Dean started slowly, raising his voice slightly at the end to make it seem like he wasn’t sure that could have caused the damage. “I didn’t see him fall, but I know he rolled a little ways down the incline. He said his side was sore, but never let me look at it and never told me anything hurt bad enough to be broken.” It was technically the truth. Dean had just left a few details out: werewolf, shouting Dad, pissy Sam. 

“Those are some pretty nasty gashes you have there on your hand, Mr. Winchester. Did you get those _hiking_ on Saturday as well?” The doctor, Dr. Blaire according to his name tag, finally met Dean’s gaze with a concerned look that didn’t completely hide the accusation in his words.

Dean’s eyebrows drew together in confusion at the change in questioning. What did his knuckles have to do with the bruises on Sam’s side? Oh. Oh. _Oh!_ Light bulbs went off in Dean’s head and he was instantly furious. The fucker thought he had beaten Sam. Sure, they had roughhoused and sparred in the past, it was almost a mandatory part of training with John Winchester, but to think that Dean would ever hurt Sam purposely? 

“I’m a mechanic and I had trouble with an engine today. I busted my knuckles when the wrench slipped off a bolt. You can call my boss, Fred over at William’s Auto Body in Jasper, and ask him. Hell, ask any of the guys in the shop. I wasn’t exactly quiet when it happened.” Dean’s anger caused the words to come out sharper than he intended. He had to keep his cool and not give this dick any further reason to suspect Dean was violent.

“I’ll do that,” the doctor replied coolly.

“Where is my brother? Did you ask him about this? I want to see him.”

“You will not be permitted to see Sam until I have talked to this Fred. Sam’s story matches yours but he could have been prompted before your arrival. Sometimes battered children protect their abusers, either out of misplaced loyalty or coercion. If you’ll excuse me, I apparently have a phone call to make.” The doctor turned and held the door to the consultation room open for Dean. Once they returned to the waiting room, Dr. Blaire walked through the double doors that led to the ER. Dean noticed a security guard, who hadn’t been there earlier, move closer to the entrance.

_Fuck!_

_*****_

Another hour later, Dean couldn’t feel his ass at all and didn’t care if he ever saw the color yellow again. Worrying his cell phone between his hands, his mind constantly turned over the conversation with Dr. Blaire. He couldn’t get past the idea that they thought he beat his little brother, had broken his ribs. God, what would happen if they looked closely at Sam’s body and saw the network of scars that were there? He bit the side of his thumbnail, a nervous habit he picked up from Sam, and thought about his baby brother laying back there without him. The doctor said he’d been sedated, but what had upset Sam so bad that he needed to be drugged? They’d been taught at an early age to be model patients. The less attention you drew to yourself, the less suspicious people were of stories and injuries.

 Dean’s leg bounced up and down as he pushed the speed dial on his phone and listened to it ring, knowing it wouldn’t be answered just as it hadn’t the previous three times he called _._

 _Hi, you’ve reached John. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you._

“Dad, it’s me again. I don’t know if you’ve gotten my other messages, but I need you to call me. It’s Sam, he’s -” Dean’s voice faltered and he cleared his throat before continuing, “He’s real sick, Dad. He’s in the hospital and I need you to come back.” Dean ended he call, pushing the small button with more force than necessary before closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. 

“Mr. Winchester?” A hand grabbed his arm and Dean jerked awake, not aware that he’d fallen asleep, his free arm instinctively reaching for his gun. Dr. Blaire stood in front of him with a look somewhere between pity and apology on his face.

“I guess you realized that I don’t beat my brother,” Dean snapped as worry and exhaustion pulled at him.

“Yes. Fred confirmed what you told us about your hand and, as I said before, Sam’s story of how he got hurt corroborated yours. I’m not sorry, Mr. Winchester,” the man said defiantly, matching Dean’s glare with one of his own. “Child abuse is an issue we take seriously. My chief concern is Sam’s welfare and doing what is in his best interest.”

Dean bristled as for the second time in as many days someone tried to tell him what was in Sam’s best interest. “Do you know what’s wrong with him or have you been too busy persecuting me?”

“Sam has a severe case of pneumonia probably exacerbated by the broken ribs.”

“When can I take him home,” Dean deadpanned.

“Mr. Winchester. I don’t think you understand. Sam’s condition is serious; people die from pneumonia and with less severe cases than Sam’s. His blood oxygenation levels are critically low. He needs oxygen therapy coupled with antibiotics to work through the pneumonia. There is also the issue of the ribs. We need to manage Sam’s pain so he can fully expand his lungs and breathe deeply. Unfortunately, the pain medicines we use can depress respiration so Sam will need to be constantly monitored. I won’t release him until he has a sustained blood ox above 95% with ambient air”

“In layman’s terms, Doc. How long will Sam be here?” His mind reeled. Last Friday Sam had the beginnings of a mild cold and now they were telling Dean he could possibly die.

“Sam needs to get his oxygen levels above 95% without the help of an oxygen tank before I’ll consider letting him leave. My best guess would be at least a few days, but probably closer to a week,” Dr. Blaire answered, but seeing the panicked look in Dean’s eyes amended, “As I said before, pneumonia is serious. His best chance for a quick recovery is under our care.”

“Can I see him?” Dean asked quietly still processing the information he’d just received.

 “Of course. I’ll take you to him now,” The doctor said as he walked in the opposite direction of the double doors that led to the Emergency Room. Noticing Dean’s hesitation, he continued, “Since Sam will be staying with us, he’s been transferred to a room on the second floor.”

 _Staying with us?_ Jesus, the guy made it sound like Sam was visiting family or something. Dean just nodded and followed the doctor to the bank of elevators at the other end of the hallway, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It had been a long day and Dean hadn’t slept well the night before.

“You know, Sam is going to need a lot of rest in order to recuperate. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep. You can always come back tomorrow.” Dr. Blaire’s understanding tone probably worked with most concerned families, but it just made Dean angry at the man all over again. If he thought that Dean was going to let Sam out of his sight, he was sadly mistaken. If he’d kept a closer watch on Sam before, his brother wouldn’t even be here.  

“No, thanks. Just take me to Sam.” Dean stepped into the awaiting elevator compartment and turned back to face the physician, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just so you know, Sam’s sedative should be wearing off soon and it is normal for patients to be disoriented for a little while.” The doctor matched Dean’s posture in the opposing corner of the car, but his eyes were trained on the gold flecked linoleum floor.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He’d interviewed enough people in his line of work to know when someone was hiding something. Body language was a bitch and would trip you up everytime. “You know I don’t think I ever found out why Sam had to be sedated in the first place.”

“He became agitated after his x-rays.” Dr. Blaire’s shoulders hunched and he turned in slightly on himself; eyes still locked on the floor. Yep, definitely did not want to tell Dean something.

“Right. You said that before. And what exactly was he so agitated about? “Dean looked at the physician expectantly, trying to keep his expression confused instead of accusatory, as the elevator binged and the doors slid open. Dr. Blaire was spared having to answer when Dean heard his name screamed from somewhere down the hallway. 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean’s mind wasn’t sure where it was going but it trusted his heart to lead him there. He turned left at the empty Nurse’s Station and saw two orderlies running into a room at the end of the hall. His boots slid slightly on the polished floor as he came to a stop outside the door to Room 213. Looking in, he tried to make sense of the chaos. Four people, the two orderlies he’d seen enter along with two nurses, were crowded around the bed fighting desperately to hold down a long, lanky, desperately thrashing body he recognized immediately as Sam and by the looks of it were failing miserably. On the floor underneath the bed, Dean could see growing puddles of blood and a clear liquid mixing together. Above the alarms on the monitor and the hospital staff’s frantic voices, he could hear Sam’s terrified screams for him interspersed with ragged breathing. As Dean began to enter, he was pushed aside by Dr. Blaire rushing in holding a syringe. 

“Don’t,” Dean yelled loud enough to be heard over the commotion. The doctor shot him an incredulous look but stilled his fingers on the cap to the hypodermic needle. “Just give me a second before you drug him again.”

Dean walked around to the side of the bed, the four staff members holding Sam tightly as he continued to struggle, and squatted down to look directly into Sam’s eyes.

“Sam? Sammy. Listen, I need you to calm down or the doctor is going to sedate you again. Do you understand me?”

Sam’s eyes slid into focus at the sound of Dean’s voice and he stopped fighting. His breaths were coming out in rattling gasps, interspersed with coughs that caused his whole body to tremble as he nodded. Dean cupped Sam’s face and stroked his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s good, baby boy. Okay, if you promise me to relax these people will let you go. Do you promise, Sam?”

*Gasp* “Yes”* Gasp*

Dean looked up at the skeptical faces surrounding Sam’s bed and nodded for them to back off. “I got him.” Unsure eyes glanced at the doctor as, reluctantly, they released their holds, but each person hovered closely to the side of the bed. Dean’s thumb continued it path back and forth on the bone under Sam’s eye comforting the fear he could still see there. Dean felt warmth spread on his thigh and looked down to see a growing stain of red on his jeans under where Sam’s hand hung over the bed rail. Frowning, his eyes followed the red stream running down Sam’s arm to the broken IV catheter at his elbow. Dean allowed himself a moment to take in the whole scene: an IV line hung limply from the elevated bag dripping the clear liquid on the floor that he had noticed earlier, some kind of oxygen mask with broken straps dangled from the opposite side bed rail and a tangle of gray wires laid haphazardly across the white sheets . Realization dawned on him. Sam had pulled his IV out and ripped the monitor leads and oxygen mask off when he woke up without Dean by his side. 

“Gauze,” Dean asked the red-headed nurse next to him flatly, trying to contain the anger, hotly bubbling just below the surface all day, from boiling over. Y _et_. Right now wasn’t the time, but he would definitely make some later. She looked at the doctor for approval before handing him a square white pad.

“Sam. You broke your IV when you were struggling. I’m going to pull out the end still in your arm and stop the bleeding. Then the nurse will put a new one in. They are also going to hook you back up to the monitors so they can see how you are doing.” Dean spoke softly like he was talking to a small child, like he had when Sam _was_ a small child. Sam’s gaze was trusting; he opened his mouth to say something then decided against it, nodding his understanding again instead. Once the gauze was secured by tape, handed dutifully and silently to him by the red-headed nurse, Dean held Sam’s other arm steady as the nurse on the opposite side of the bed placed a new IV and connected the line to the bags hanging above Sam’s bed. Sam stayed pliant, owlish eyes carefully watching as the two nurses placed the various wires, connected to the now silent monitor, on his body. The small screen came to life showing the wild beat of Sam’s heart in rhythmic waves, numbers for things Dean didn’t understand displayed as quantifiable proof of Sam’s vitality.

“Anything else?” Dean looked at Dr. Blaire who stood near the foot of the bed still holding the syringe. He’d dismissed the two orderlies when it appeared Dean had Sam under control, but apparently had kept the sedative at the ready for insurance. Dean felt Sam tighten next to him and slide his feet further up the bed at the sight of the needle. He tenderly turned Sam’s face back to him, locked gazes, and felt the tension start to ebb from Sam’s muscles. 

“The mask. It will be uncomfortable feeling at first and the mask itself is tight. “

“Sam? Did you hear the doctor?” Sam nodded. “Good. “

The red-haired nurse reached into a cabinet next to Sam’s bed and pulled out new straps for the mask. Her nimble fingers quickly changed out the damaged ones for the new ones then she gently placed her hand on Dean’s shoulder indicating she needed him to move. Dean stroked Sam’s face once more before removing his hand. The nurse lifted the mask to Sam’s face and in relaxing tones explained how it fit and its purpose in his treatment. As the plastic seal touched his cheeks and Dean was blocked from his view, Sam’s eyes grew wide and panicked. He didn’t flail again or cry out but reached blindly for his brother’s hand. Dean laced his fingers with Sam’s and squeezed them reassuringly. When the nurse stepped back, all Dean could see of Sam’s features were his fear tinged hazel eyes.  

_Sammy, what the hell happened to you while I was in the waiting room?_

“Sam,” Dr. Blaire said softly as he stepped closer to Sam’s head. “I’ve started you on a round of general antibiotics for the infection. I am also going to give you something for pain and it will more than likely make you sleepy. I know that you can’t talk with the mask on, but if you understand can you give me a sign? Nod or something?”

Sam’s left hand tightened around Dean’s and he looked at his brother with worried eyes. Dean could read each question in the hazel orbs as well as if Sam was able to speak them. _Is it safe? Will you stay with me? Will you be here when I wake up?_ Being given anything that would incapacitate them while in a medical facility was not something they agreed to easily. There was always a possibility that they would need to leave a place quickly and sleepily drugged was not conducive to speedy escapes. But Dean knew that after struggling so hard, Sam’s ribs had to be hurting him and once the adrenaline wore off he’d be in serious pain. He leaned over and ran the fingers of his free hand through the hair on Sam’s forehead soothing both Sam and himself.

“It’ll be okay. You need to rest. I’ll be here in case you need me.” Dean looked up at the doctor daring him to contradict him, challenging him to say he couldn’t stay with his brother. Sam followed Dean’s gaze. After an uncomfortable swallow, Dr. Blaire nodded probably deciding it better to keep Dean close than have Sam freak out again. Sam’s right hand curled into an OK sign. The doctor nodded again and murmured something about the nurse bringing it in in a few minutes before leaving the brothers alone.

Dean stared down at where his fingers were still intertwined with his brother’s. Sam was going to be _fine_. _They_ were going to be fine.

  _He could have died_ , a small voice in the back of his mind supplied quietly _._

 _Sammy could have died_ , it corrected itself. 

Sam squeezed his hand and the corner of Dean’s mouth curved up in the ghost of a smile but his eyes remained on their hands. Sam shook their hands with quick, jerky movements to get Dean’s attention. 

_Oh right, can’t talk around the mask._ He smiled up at Sam, schooling his features into a reassuring expression. “Yeah, Sammy?”

Sam’s eyebrows were scrunched together and raised, a crease forming on his forehead, typical Sammy for ‘what’s wrong’. Sam’s thumb drew lazy circles on the back of Dean’s hand and Dean almost laughed. Almost. Sam was worried about Dean.

“Nothing, Sammy. I’m fine. You just rest and concentrate on getting better.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow over eyes that looked too old and weary for a teenager’s face and Dean knew that expression too. It was ‘don’t lie to me’. He searched his brother’s face, his Sammy’s face and leaned forward to place his hand on the side of Sam’s neck. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, Sam.” Gripping the back of Sam’s neck firmly, he continued through gritted teeth, “you stubborn bastard. You could’ve died. I could’ve…” Dean stopped; a lump formed in his throat and choked off the rest of his words. _I could have lost you_. 

Sam tried to say something but all that made it past the mask was a garbled mumble. He tried again with similar results.

“Sam, just rest. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better,” Dean told him even though they both knew they never would.

Sam reached up and began tearing at the straps to the mask, pulling them in an attempt to free himself again. Dean’s hands flew up and stilled the frantic movements.

“Sam, stop. Stop!” Dean lowered Sam’s hands and held them loosely but securely in his own. “You need that. Whatever you want to say can wait until you get it off. Nothing is more important than you getting well.” Dean’s eyes glittered with a fierce look.

The red haired nurse reentered the room carrying a syringe of clear liquid, smiling quizzically at them. She walked over to Sam’s IV line and connected the syringe to the tube and emptied its contents. As she turned to walk away, Sam pulled his wrist free from Dean’s grip and gently reached out to lay a hand on her arm. Dean was taken aback when her eyes flashed frightened for a moment before she realized that Sam’s touch was meant to get her attention and he wasn’t going to harm her. Sam had really scared this woman with his outburst earlier and Dean had to stifle a snort at the thought of his tender hearted brother as intimidating. 

Sure! During a hunt Sam could be a force to be reckoned with (he proved that last Saturday), but any other time Sam was the type of person people wanted to give cookies and milk to and take home to meet their grandmothers. Ninety percent of the time, Sam was nothing more than an over six foot teddy bear with a lethal set of puppy dog eyes. 

When his focus returned, he saw the nurse digging in the top drawer of the small table next to Sam’s bed. Wait, what did he miss? The nurse pulled out a small pad with the hospital logo across the top and a pencil. Sam pulled his other hand free from Dean when she handed them to him. Sam’s eyes softened the way they did when he smiled and the woman smiled in return. Before she walked out, she said, “My name is Susan. I will be your nurse tonight. That should help you sleep and usually works pretty quick. Let me know if you need anything. “

Dean watched her go, still slightly stunned by the fact that Sam had scared her, when he heard scribbling. Sam turned the paper for Dean to see. Only one word marred the page in Sam’s small scrawl. 

_SORRY._

“Sam. Everything is fine. Please just go to sleep.” Dean placed a hand on his leg. Sam’s eyes were already drooping and each blink was lasting just a little longer than the previous. He turned the pad and put pen to paper once more.

LOVE YOU DE

Dean’s heart warmed inexplicably at the sight of the words and the childhood nickname. “Sleep, Sammy,” he whispered, taking the pad and pen from him with his free hand and setting them on the bedside table. Dean sat quietly, his hand still on his brother’s thigh, until finally Sam gave up the fight against sleep and his eyes closed. 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He had officially passed tired and was now into full blown exhaustion. Sam’s earlier panic attack drained what little reserves he’d had left. Dean needed coffee, lots of coffee, and he needed to call his Dad again. He watched his peacefully slumbering brother for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulled his hand back and slipped out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Not sure where everything was in this hospital, Dean walked back toward the Nurse’s Station in the hopes he could get some directions. Susan, coming out of another room, nearly bumped into him. A bright smile broke out across her face as she gave him a poorly concealed appraising look. “Everything alright, Mr. Winchester? You or Sam need anything?”

“Call me Dean,” he smirked. Even on the brink of exhaustion and feeling a little bit like hammered dog shit, he still had the touch. “Sam’s asleep. I was just out looking for the cafeteria.”

“Oh, can I get you something?” Susan’s offered with hopeful eyes.

“Nah, I’m just going for coffee and I need to make a call. “

Susan’s face fell, but she composed herself, “The cafeteria is on three. Just take the elevator up and it’s on the right.”

“Thanks.” Dean looked in the general direction he knew the elevator must be when a thought occurred to him. “Hey, Susan? Can I ask you a question?”

Susan face became encouraged again. “Uh, sure.”

“What happened with Sam in x-ray earlier?” Dean gave her his best ‘you can trust me’ smile. He may tease Sam about being an emo bitch, but, truth of the matter, Sam was a Winchester and no one could keep their cool in public better than a Winchester.  Sam was too much of a control freak to lose it like he had without a good reason. Something had seriously spooked him and Dean was determined to find out what it was.

“Uh,” she stammered again, the question not the one she had wanted,” pretty much what you saw in his room before.”

“Really? He just flipped out, huh?” Dean tried to keep the suspicion and frustration out of his voice, instead letting confusion and worry bleed through. Nothing more than a concerned brother troubled over his little brother’s reactions.  

“Well, you know he was in and out of it when you brought him in. He, um, woke up just as they were finishing and became combative.” She looked down the hallways avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“Combative?” Dean almost choked on a snort. “Like before?” From what Dean had seen before in Sam’s hospital room he wasn’t sure he’d classify it as combative. Resistant was more like it. These people wouldn’t know what to do with Sam when he was combative. 

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Do you know what happened right before he spazzed?

“I don’t know. I-I’m not sure.” Susan looked around again in what appeared to be an attempt to find any excuse to escape. Dean watched as the girl’s water blue eyes darted around and she shifted her weight. She knew something. Whatever had happened must have been bad if the staff kept dancing around the truth with him. 

_Pretty little liar_. 

He considered Susan’s anxious stance for a few moments longer before deciding it was probably best to back off and stay on friendly terms with the person charged with Sam’s wellbeing.  

“Oh. I was just curious. It’s not like Sammy to go postal like that. So, anyway, you say the cafeteria is up on three?”

He watched Susan’s posture relax at the change of subject. “Yeah. Do you need help finding your way back to the elevators?”

“That’d be great.” Dean walked with the nurse in easy silence now that they were no longer on the topic of Sam. Dean may have decided against pressing the issue right now, but he would find out what had happened to scare Sam. 

As they approached the Nurse’s Desk, the brunette nurse handed Susan a metal chart. “Labs are back on 213. Dr. Blaire has changed his orders effective on the next dose,” she said ignoring Dean.

“213? That’s Sam, right? What does that mean his orders have changed?” Dean was strangely anxious, a feeling normally accompanied by gun powder and rock salt.

Susan lifted kind eyes from Sam’s chart. “Dean, calm down” she started and he saw the other nurse’s head snap up at the use of his first name. “Everything’s fine.  The results of Sam’s blood work have come back and the doctor is just changing him to an antibiotic better designed to fight his infection. It’s not unusual and nothing to be alarmed over.” Dean must not have looked appeased because she then added, “Think of it this way. The better matched the drug is against the infection; the faster Sam will recover and be able to go home.”

Dean smiled and nodded but couldn’t shake the foreboding coldness pulsating at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath as he felt panic try to steal the air from his lungs. 

_Gotta’ get a grip_.

 Susan placed a hand on his forearm. “Why don’t you go get that coffee and some air?” Nodding again, Dean headed in the direction of the elevator.

 

*****

Waiting for the elevator, Dean pulled a face and rubbed his tongue on the roof of his mouth. The hospital’s coffee was one step above used motor oil and he felt like the sludge now coated every square inch of his tongue. That coupled with reaching John’s voicemail _again_ had made the last thirty minutes some of the most unsatisfying and aggravating of Dean’s life. The elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside the waiting car, patting his jacket pockets looking for a pack of gum. As the door slid open again on the second floor, Dean’s fingers curled around a laminated sleeve of Juicy Fruit in his inside pocket _. Juicy Fruit?_ Dean was a Big Red chewer preferring the spicy flavor over sweet.  _Must have stolen it from Sam. Dad always chews DoubleMint._ Two bongs over the PA system pried him from his internal gum conversation. A voice rang out of the speakers, nearly causing Dean’s knees to buckle. “Code Blue, Room 213. Code Blue, Room 213.”

Dean’s heart lurched. He’d been in enough hospitals to know that they used color codes over the PA to indicate various emergencies and that the significance of each color differed from facility to facility. Except blue. No matter where he’d been, blue had always been reserved for a ‘crashing’ patient. Dean ran through the hallways and nearly knocked down Dr. Blaire coming from the opposite direction. The physician grabbed Dean by the shoulders, preventing him from moving into Sam’s room, and shook him slightly.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to stay out here so we can help him. “

Satisfied that Dean would stay out of the way, Dr. Blaire entered and looked at the monitors before directing the nurses to gather some medications. Dean’s fingers curled around the door jamb to keep himself from running to Sam. He felt oddly detached from his body, every sense still working but like he was experiencing them from behind glass. He lost track of time, staring blankly but not seeing, hearing but not listening and touching but not feeling. Dean became a veritable statue in the doorway, a Hanson titled ‘Winchester Waiting’, and if Sam died he knew he might as well be one.

 Dean stumbled against the casing as someone pushed past him. He watched as the new arrival, a bear of a man in a white coat as tall as Sam but twice as broad, went to his brother’s bedside and surveyed the scene. The nurses looked up at his presence, gratitude and faith evident on their faces. 

“Susie, please mute that monitor.” The man’s deep baritone was quiet, but held an authority that carried volumes above the noise in the room. “What have we got?”

Dean missed Dr. Blaire’s summary when a soft voice whispered something next to him. He turned to see a young girl, maybe Sam’s age, standing in the doorway with him. She was watching everything unfold in the room with a solemn and somewhat regretful expression. Feeling his gaze, she turned dark brown eyes to him and studied his face before apparently coming to a decision. Slowly, making every movement known, she slipped her warm hand under the one Dean had gripping the door jam and tenderly pulled it off the wood casing. She threaded her fingers with his and began to pull him from the entrance to Sam’s room.

“But…,” the protest died when she placed a finger to his lips.

“Dr. Blaire is a good physician, but there is nobody better than Dr. Trotter. I promise you, Sam is safe and we will just be in the way. If you are needed, they’ll come get us,” she replied in a voice that held the same gentle authority that the man had. Dean searched her open face, honesty written in every feature, and allowed himself to be led away to a small room a few doors down from Sam’s.

 The room was roughly a little larger than a supply closet with bunk beds on one wall and lockers lining the other. The girl guided him to sit next to her on the bottom bunk and Dean glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unsure what was going on. He jerked when her arms enveloped him in a warm embrace that seemed to seep into every tense muscle Dean had, loosening them and he unconsciously melted into her. He wasn’t aware he was making noise until she quietly shushed him, fingers combing through the short hairs on the back of his neck. It was a comforting touch, full of tenderness like Dean had not known in almost 17 years, and he let all the things he’d been suppressing flow to the surface. Tears pricked his eyes as love, hate, self-loathing and fear, more fear than Dean could ever remember feeling, tried to draw him under. His arms came up and he clutched at the girl like a life line as he drowned in his emotions. 

 

*****

 

A strong hand on Dean’s arm forced his eyes to snap open and his free hand to slide underneath the pillow below his head. He rapidly blinked the sleep from his eyes as his hand searched futilely for the knife he knew should be there. As the dim area came into focus, he could see the silhouette of a man standing next to his bed bending over him. Dean shot up, on the defensive, until he realized he was still in the small room the girl had led him to and that he must have fallen asleep. He really needed to do something about this accidental narcolepsy he seemed to be suffering from.

“Mr. Winchester,” the deep voice questioned, eyes filled with concern. Dean didn’t remember the face, but recognized the voice as the man who had been with Sam.

Dean swallowed unable to voice the question he needed desperately answered. Taking a few calming breaths, he finally managed a “Sam?”

The man’s expression relaxed as a reassuring smile passed his lips. “Sam should be fine now. He had an anaphylactoid reaction to the antibiotic Dr. Blaire changed him to. We’ve stabilized his vitals, but did have to put a tube down his throat to help with his breathing. Once he wakes we’ll remove it.” The words seemed to shatter the glass that still encased Dean’s senses and allowed reality back in. His elbows came to rest on his knees, tripoding his upper body, to prevent him from pitching forward to the floor in relief.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself before, I’m Dr. Trotter. I was supposed to take over Sam’s care earlier but I was tending to another patient and Dr. Blaire was kind enough to continue with Sam until I was available.” He extended his hand and Dean’s automatically came up to meet it. The man’s grasp was firm and a calm seemed to radiate up Dean’s body from the contact. Physically, he didn’t appear to be much older than Dean, but was surrounded by an aura of wisdom and knowledge that made him seem older. “Mr. Winchester, you’ve had a long day. You should try to get some rest or you’ll end up in the bed next to your brother.” 

“Can I –, “ Dean coughed lightly to clear the emotion in his voice and started again, “Can I stay with him?”

Dr. Trotter thought about it for a moment then smiled again. “Why don’t you go back to your brother and I’ll make arrangements for a cot to be brought in for you. It’s not the most comfortable thing but it’s better than a hard plastic chair.” He patted Dean on the shoulder before walking out the door.

Dean stayed in the room for a few more moments to gather himself before walking back to Sam’s room. As he approached the foot of the bed, he could see the tube that replaced the obscuring mask Sam had worn earlier. Tears pooled in his eyes at the sight and the doctor’s phantom voice telling him Sam needing help breathing. Tentatively, Dean moved up the side of the bed and pushed an unruly lock of hair from Sam’s forehead. 

_God, I love him_. Dean started at the thought and then started at his reaction. Why’d that surprise him? Of course, he loved Sam. They were brothers. Even when he didn’t like him very much, he loved his brother. _That’s not what you meant,_ the little voice from earlier whispered. Dean looked over at Sam’s sleeping face and his stomach lurched. _Oh God, I_ love _him._

Dean continued to stand at Sam’s head reeling from his epiphany. His body worked on muscle memory, fingers carding through Sam’s hair in a motion that had never failed to calm both Winchester brothers. Staring at Sam’s sleeping face, he slid his hand down from the silky locks until his palm rested under Sam’s jaw and his fingers fitted to his neck.

What kind of person wants their brother? _A sick bastard_. But I love him _. Still doesn’t make it right_. I can’t hurt Sammy. _No, you can’t_. Oh good. We agree on something. Then what am I going to do _? Here’s a plan. If you want to keep him, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself._

Dean turned his head when a metallic rattle entered the room. The girl from earlier was wheeling a standard roll away cot into the room, her face scrunched at the amount of sound it was making. She pushed it to the side of the bed and unhooked the metal bar allowing the head and foot of the cot to fall open like wings. She silently went to a cabinet, pulled out linens and a pillow and started making up the bed. Once complete, she walked over to the side of Sam’s bed opposite Dean and checked the monitor read outs and the IV line.  

Dean cleared his throat and when her attention moved to him, he introduced himself softly. “I’m Dean, Sam’s brother.” 

“Casey,” she answered. “You know, he’s going to be fine and you should really get some more rest. I meant what I said earlier, Sam is in the best of hands.”

“Yeah, um. What was that about…earlier?”

A small smile ghosted across her face. “You looked like you needed a friend,” she said simply before leaving.

Dean huffed a breath and moved the chair he’d been sitting on to the corner of the room so he could pull the roll away bed closer to Sam’s bedside.  Lying down, he shifted enough that he could reach between the rail and mattress and put his hand on Sam’s. He watched the steady up and down lines on the monitor and drifted off to the rhythmic beep of Sam’s heartbeat.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke up early the next morning, his arm tingling from sleeping with it propped up on Sam’s bed. Grunting as he sat up and scrubbed the last remnants of sleep away with a calloused palm, he noticed a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the table with DEAN written on the side in blue pen. He pulled the plastic lid off and sniffed the contents suspiciously.

“Casey, wouldn’t poison you,” Dr. Trotter said from the doorway. “If she wanted to kill you, she’d use her hands.” He chuckled as he opened Sam’s chart.

Dean took a long pull from the cup and nearly groaned at the taste. This definitely didn’t come from the cafeteria. “Casey is awesome,” he murmured.

“She’s been known to display some awesome tendencies from time to time,” the man said with a fond smile.

“How’s the patient, Doc?” 

“He’s responding well to the new antibiotics,” Dr. Trotter replied, checking the monitors and making comments in Sam’s file. He looked up at Dean and smiled a compassionate smile. “Mr. Winchester, Sam’s been through a lot in the last 24 hours, but he’s strong and fighting hard. Barring any unforeseen complications, Sam is going to be fine.”

“He hasn’t stirred at all. Is that normal? I mean the kid’s usually a rock tumbler in the night.” Dean took another swallow of the coffee, feeling the caffeine thrumming through his veins already _. This is some good shit._

“It’s not _not_ normal. Most people sleep more when they’re sick. The immune system requires a lot of energy to function properly and I’m guessing he hasn’t slept well in a few days. That coupled with the stress from yesterday has more than likely exhausted his reserves. Give him some time, only Sam’s body knows when he’ll wake up. If you want, I can have someone bring you some breakfast that way you can be here in case he rouses.”

“That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble. Anything’s fine.” 

The doctor nodded, clicked his pen closed and left the man with his unconscious brother. Dean pushed the bed out of the way and carried the chair back into position. He watched Sam’s chest rise and fall, waiting for some sign that he was waking up – a finger twitch, a facial tick, something. He heard someone enter the room and pulled his eyes from the figure on the bed to see Casey carrying a hospital tray and a small IV bag.

“Good morning, Dean.” She transferred the tray to her left hand, propping it against her hip, so she could move the bed table closer. “Were you able to sleep much?”

“Yeah, some.” His eyes widened when she removed the lid from the tray to reveal an assortment of pastries. 

Briefly placing her hand on his shoulder in a gentle touch, she moved past him to the IV pole at the head of Sam’s bed. After hanging the new bag, switching the lines over and disposing of the old one in the garbage can, she turned her attention to the still form on the bed. Her small hand came to rest on Sam’s broad shoulder in the same tender manner it had on Dean’s.

“Good morning to you too, Sam,” she said like she expected a response. “Do you think you’d like to wake up soon and give your brother some peace of mind?”

Dean watched her as she checked the straps securing the breathing tube all the while carrying on her one sided conversation with Sam. Like the night before, he felt himself relax in her presence. She really seemed to care about him and Sam, wanted Sam to get better and Dean to keep his sanity.

“Casey?”

“Yes, Dean,” she replied over her shoulder. 

“Can you please tell me what happened yesterday in x-ray?” Dean didn’t really expect an answer, it seemed everyone employed here was allergic to them, but it was worth a shot. Something about this girl made him believe she might actually tell him.

Casey turned so she fully faced him and answered without any of the hesitation the others had shown. “Please understand, I wasn’t there personally so I don’t know specifics, but from what I’ve gathered Dr. Blaire questioned Sam about the bruises. He raised the same allegations with him that he confronted you with and Sam became upset.” Casey sighed heavily, displeasure evident on her face. “Blaire overreacted and had him chemically restrained. Unfortunately, when he came to, his body was still in the fight mode it was before the sedation resulting in the scene you helped control.”

Dean’s hands balled into fists. “That bastard.”

“The Disciplinary Committee is supposed to meet in about an hour to discuss the incident.” Her fingertips brushed across the skin of Sam’s forearm and she pulled the covers further up his body, careful to leave the hand closest to Dean exposed.

“I’ll be sure to ask him if the slap on the wrist stung the next time I see him.” He took a sip from his cup.

Casey’s face hardened at the sarcasm and her barely detectable Southern accent thickened into a drawl. “I assure you, Dean, this situation is bein’ taken seriously. His actions were unacceptable and the owner of the hospital is, for lack of a better word, pissed. She’s already called for his resignation; the Committee is just a formality. Not only did he unnecessarily stress a critically ill patient, but he endangered the staff. Sam broke the x-ray technician’s nose and if you hadn’t intervened last night probably would have hurt one of the people restrainin’ him.  I understand Blaire’s concern that Sam was bein’ hurt, but there is a difference between protectin’ someone and a witch hunt. He allowed a personal crusade to overshadow his top priority, doin’ what’s best for the patient.“

Dean stared at the half full cup in his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” he trailed off. “You’re the only person to answer me.”

“Dean,” she sighed ducking her head to look him in the face again, “I will never lie to you, even if the truth would be harder to hear. It’s not in my nature. I’m just sorry Trotter didn’t get there sooner. If he had, this could have been avoided completely.” Her pronunciation once again reverted back to only the slightest hint of an accent as her anger ebbed and the same regretful look that Dean saw in the doorway the previous night clouded her face. She scratched absently at her chest before realizing it and pulling her hand away. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something when he felt a vibrating in his jeans pocket. Casey turned her attention to him and he smirked guiltily knowing he wasn’t supposed to have his cell phone on in the hospital. He reached for it certain it was his father finally returning his call. The only other person besides Sam and John that had his number was Fred at the shop and Dean had already talked to him to say he wouldn’t be in until Sam was better. Looking at his brother, Dean was torn. The last time he’d left him, Sam had almost died, but he needed to tell John what was going on. 

Casey glanced at the shaking device before smiling slightly. “You should answer that. Go on down to the lounge where I took you last night. I’ll stay here with Sam until you come back.”

Dean nodded, not questioning his trust in the girl he’d barely met, before punching the ‘Answer’ button on his phone. “Dad, hold on. Let me get somewhere I can talk.”

Dean sat down in a padded chair by the door of the lounge and took a deep breath. “Dad?”

“Dean, what happened? I got messages from you saying that Sam was in the hospital.”

“He is, sir. He’s got pneumonia and it’s pretty bad. They have him on a breathing machine and last night they gave him some antibiotic that he was allergic to and it…he couldn’t breathe. They got him under control, but he almost…he could have…” Dean stopped. Any further words he wanted to say stuck in his throat as the idea that he almost lost Sam came rushing back again.

“He’s okay now,” the gruff voice asked.

Dean closed his eyes and titled his head back and forth, popping his neck, in an effort to relax and gain control of himself. “I guess. He hasn’t woken up since the episode with the medicine, but his doctor says whatever else they gave him is working. “

“Good. I still have to finish up here. I’ll be there as soon as I can, probably tomorrow sometime.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered automatically before his father hung up. He sat in the chair and stared at the blue screen on his phone, flashing CALL ENDED 00:01:45, until it darkened to black. Dean had that behind glass feeling again, hell he was becoming used to it. He had told his father that his youngest was seriously ill, had had a reaction to medicine the night before that could have killed him, and instead of racing to Sam’s side, John was finishing his hunt? Dean understood that saving people was important to their father, but damnit family came first!  Hell, John was the one that had taught him that.

As he walked back to Sam’s room, Dean concentrated on his breathing to try to calm down. Casey gave him a warm smile when he entered and patted his shoulder comfortingly as she exited.

In his absence she had folded the roll away bed up and pushed it into the corner giving him more room at Sam’s bedside. He looked over the options she had brought him for breakfast, chose an apple fritter and sat back in the unforgiving yellow chair. Biting into the pastry, tastelessly chewing, Dean stared at Sam trying to draw some of the serenity that sleep had brought his brother to help him sort his thoughts and center his chaotic feelings. His mind was happily ignoring his revelation from the previous night and instead focused on his conversation with his father. 

_Less than two minutes_. 

John couldn’t spare more than two minutes to find out he nearly lost his youngest. Surely another hunter was close enough to finish the hunt John was on and allow the man to be with his sick son. 

Dean sighed and tossed the rest of his half eaten apple fritter on the tray. His appetite, barely there to begin with, was now gone.  In a matter of 24 hours, Dean had learned some harsh truths about his life. He’d learned that he could feel fear outside of a hunt, he learned that he was a sick-o in love with his brother and he’d learned his father was not the man he’d thought he was. Wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans, he lifted from his seat, leaned over his brother, nosed into his soft hair and pressed his lips to Sam’s temple as he vowed once again to keep him safe _._ Dean froze, lips still pressed to the tender skin of Sam’s face. 

_Kissing? Kissing wasn’t part of the plan, Dean. You remember the plan, right? ‘Keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself.’ Remember? Stick to the plan._

Dropping back onto the seat, he rested his elbows on the side of Sam’s mattress, and put his head in his hands. _What the hell do I do now?_


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s head snapped up at an odd sound followed immediately by an insistent tugging pull on his sleeve. His vision was filled with hazel eyes blown wide. Sam’s one hand frantically grabbed at Dean’s shirt while the fingers of the other clawed at the tape securing the exposed portion of the breathing tube. His shoulders hunched as he made abortive noises between a choke and a gag in the back of his throat. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Sam! Calm down.” Dean stood. He placed a hand on Sam’s trying to pull loose the breathing tube while the other pressed the nurse call button on the side bedrail. ”You had a bad reaction yesterday and they put a tube in to help you breathe.” Sam continued to curl up and make choking noises as he fisted his hand in the front of Dean’s shirt.   

“Do you need something, De-,” Casey stopped in the doorway, followed by another girl, when she saw Sam. “Zoe, go get Trotter. Tell him Winchester is awake and fighting the tube.”

Dean registered the swish of a long black ponytail as the girl left and Casey hurried to the other side of the bed. Sam’s eyes snapped to her, taking in her scrubs. He tugged the hand in Dean’s grasp loose to grab a handful of the girl’s shirt and straightened his elbow to keep her at arm’s length. He scooted closer to Dean and tightened his grip on his brother’s clothes.

“Sam? Sam,” she said softly, but her words fell on deaf ears. Sam’s full attention focused back on Dean, moving closer until only the bedrail separated them.  Casey gently placed her hand over his and carefully tried to pry him from the fabric of her top, but Sam held firm and continued to stiff arm her.

Dean felt her eyes flicker to his face. “Dean, he’s not going to listen to me after everything that happened yesterday. I need you to talk to him and get him to relax. When Trotter gets here we’ll remove the tube, but he has to calm down. He’s just making it worse on himself. And I need him to let go of me so I can help when they come back. If I make him, I might hurt him.” 

 Dean looked over at her to make a comment and noticed the exposed muscles of her neck and arms, tense and defined. The feminine softness replaced by sharp delineated muscles shaking with the effort she was exerting to keep from using them. _What the fuck?_

“Dean, please.”

“Sam?” Dean locked gazes with his brother and leaned over Sam’s head blocking Casey from his line of sight. “Listen to me. They are coming to take that thing out, but you have to chill dude. “His fingers automatically went to Sam’s hair and began smoothing back the silky locks. He soothingly ran his other hand down the arm holding the girl and without breaking eye contact with Sam, gently pulled Sam’s fingers free and held them loosely in his own.

“That’s good, Sam. Just relax.” The hand in Sam’s hair kept up its ministrations, Sam unconsciously tilting his head into the caress. Sam’s eyes shot to the door and Dean turned to see Dr. Trotter and the black haired girl, Zoe, rush in.

“Sam. My name is Dr. John Trotter. I’m going to remove the tube in your throat,” Dr. Trotter spoke softly. 

Sam trained his eyes back on Dean and the uncertainty and fear Dean found there made his stomach tighten. Since turning fifteen, Sam had become fiercely independent and determined to exert control over his life, a main contributor to arguments between him and John. Now he was turning to Dean for reassurance making Dean realize how bad the night before must have been on his little brother. He’d really hoped that with all the drugs Sam wouldn’t remember most of it. 

“It’s okay, Sam. This is the doctor that saved you last night. “

 “Sam, we’re gonna’ need Dean to move, “Casey said in the same muted tone the doctor was using. Seeing his grip tighten in Dean’s shirt, she hurriedly continued,”we’re not gonna make him leave. We just need him to move down some, but you will have to let go of his shirt.”

Sam slowly uncurled his fingers from the front of Dean’s shirt while keeping a wary eye on the three staff members. “Thank you, Sam.” Casey smiled encouragingly and without looking away from Sam’s face used the flat of her palm on his side to gently but firmly shuffle Dean out of the way.

She remained true to her word and only moved Dean far enough down the bed they could work, but kept him close enough that he could keep Sam’s hand clasped in his. She and Zoe moved around him doing their best to assist without forcing Dean to shift out of Sam’s reach or completely block him from Sam’s sight. Dean felt a welling of affection and gratitude for the two girls rise up as they did their best to keep Sam at ease.  For his part, Sam remained still, careful to obey all the directions of the three workers.

For nearly an hour Dean stood an inconvenient bystander as the tube was removed, a standard mask was put on and the doctor examined Sam. 

“Sam, your stats are looking good so I’m going to leave the regular oxygen mask on. It will give you some more freedom of movement, it’s more comfortable and has an added bonus…you can talk. Just know that if your percentages start to fall again we’ll have to go back to the other one. You’ll have some throat discomfort for a while because of the tube. If it becomes too much, let someone know and I’ll give you something.” 

Sam, who’d been sipping cold water from a cup held by Casey, released the straw and swallowed, wincing at the motion, before smiling wanly and nodding at the doctor. Dr. Trotter made some notes on the chart, smiled at the brothers and nodded to Casey before he and Zoe left.

Sam watched Casey as she finished putting things away and checked the positioning of the face mask and the monitors one last time. Turning, she placed a hand on Sam’s arm and Dean’s shoulder. “Sam. My name is Casey. I know you’ve had a difficult couple of days and have not been treated with the care you deserve. I promise to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I am scheduled to take care of you today, but only if you feel comfortable with me.”

Sam studied her quietly before nodding slowly.

“Okay. If that changes, please have Dean let someone know.  You should try to get some more rest. I’ll be in and out to check on you, but if you need anything and I’m not around just push the call button,” she smiled, removing the hand on Sam’s arm to tap her finger on the orange call button on the bed rail. “Dean?” She turned her attention to him and squeezed the hand on his shoulder. “You should rest too.” Releasing her grip she walked out the door.

“Sh-she seems,” Sam cleared his throat and took another sip of water,”she seems nice.”

Dean smiled in the direction of the door. “She’s actually been really great.” He turned to find knowing eyes looking at him through a hurt expression and his smile hardened. “Sam, dude. I’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve barely left this room. You really think I would try to get laid?” 

Sam’s face was a mixture of shock, remorse and…relief? His eyes had mellowed at Dean’s icy question and dropped to where his fingers were pulling at a loose thread on the blanket. They remained quiet for a few minutes, Sam wrapping and unwrapping the thread around his index finger while Dean stared at the wall across from him stunned. Sam thought he was a big enough horn dog to fuck the nurse while his little brother was dying. _Nice._

_Nope, you’re not a horn dog._ **Damn right**! _A sick puppy maybe, but definitely not a horn dog._ **Thanks.**

 “What happened,” Sam croaked, coughing and wincing once again, causing Dean to jump guiltily.

“They changed your antibiotic last night and you had some kind of major allergic reaction,” he replied wearily. “You got something against living?”

“Sorry.”

“Well, just don’t try to die on me again for a while and we’ll call it even.” Dean held the cup for him to take a few more sips to soothe his throat. 

Sam swallowed and laid his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes when something occurred to him. He opened his eyes and searched over the room. “Where’s Dad?”

Dean’s stomach turned to ice. “He, uh, he’ll probably be here tomorrow.”

Sam’s only response to this was a soft ‘oh’ and a resigned look. The ice in his stomach became a glacier. Sam wasn’t surprised. It was like he’d almost expected John not to be there. 

“He’s finishing up a hunt,” Dean defended out of habit. 

Sam’s slanted eyes, staring at a picture of daffodils on the opposite wall, tightened and he nodded, jaw twitching. Dean sighed and prepared for the inevitable rant, not that he could blame Sam this time. When Sam finally faced him again, his eyes were sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Sam,” Dean warned.

“I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry Dad isn’t here. And I’m sorry you had to do this alone.” Sam was gasping by the end, his eyes tearing as he tried to hold back the need to cough long enough to get it all out.

“Sam,” Dean repeated. “Everything is fine. Save your throat.”

“Dean.”

“You really can’t shut up, can you?”

“Thanks.”

Dean cleared his throat and picked up the remote. “Let’s see what’s on the TV. Maybe we can find Beaches or something for you. Hey, Sam? Did you ever know that you’re my hero,” he sing-songed, batting his eyelashes in his brother’s direction.  As he flipped through the channels, he caught Sam’s scowl out of the corner of his eye and felt his heart lighten. For the first time in days, he actually allowed himself to believe everything would be alright.

Flicking through the station line up, Dean’s thumb paused, hovering over the button, when something on the screen caught his eye. He bit back a grin as he waited for it. 5,4,3,2…

“Porky’s, Dean. Seriously?”

“It’s a classic, Sammy.” Dean smirked tossing the remote on the bed next to Sam in a silent invitation for Sam to change the channel to whatever he wanted.  It was an offer that Sam didn’t get very often.  Dean casually draped his arm over the bed rail allowing his hand to dangle on Sam’s side. His fingers, already addicted to the feel of Sam’s hand in them, twitched as he suppressed their need for the skin to skin fix.

Sighing softly, Sam nestled his head further into the pillow, fidgeting slightly on the mattress, and turned his attention to the comedy on the television. Just as he settled and found a comfortable position, he pushed up suddenly removing the oxygen mask as a coughing fit overtook him. Dean rose to his feet, hands hovering uselessly above Sam’s back and chest not sure what to do to help him. Sam laid back, replaced the mask and wiped the tears the exertion caused from the corners of his eyes. Panting, he smiled reassuringly at the concerned look on his brother’s face. “I’m okay,” he rasped.

 Dean dropped back into his chair resuming his previous position, jerking when he felt a soft caress against the back of his hand. Looking over, he saw Sam gently tracing his index finger across the scabs on his knuckles staring intently at the wounds. Dean was mesmerized by the slow path Sam’s fingers were trekking, the touch eerily intimate. “Blue collar hands,” he shrugged.

Sam’s eyes flicked up to his face at the comment but quickly rested again on his finger still stroking Dean’s knuckles. Sam remained entranced by the movement only stirring when he subdued coughs behind closed lips. Dean relaxed and began watching the movie again allowing the touch to become a soothing background. Sometime later his hand twitched when the motion stopped. He looked over to see Sam sleeping, his stroking hand lying limply on the mattress below Dean’s. Dean threaded his arm through the rail and placed his hand on Sam’s, encasing his cool fingers in Dean’s warm ones. Holding that position, he watched as the credits rolled and the sequel began, feeling perfectly content.

After days of endless waiting, the rest of the evening passed more or less in a blur. Casey and Zoe came in and out always careful not wake either brother if they were napping except for at dinner time when wild mushroom soup appeared before Sam and a burger was placed on the table next to Dean. The brothers found that not all hospital food sucked as they cleared their respected trays. Another movie and a few hands of Rummy later, Sam yawned and his eyes drooped.

“Sleep, dude. I’ll be here if you need me.” Dean gathered the cards and moved his bed into position closer to Sam’s. Lounging back he found a comedy act on television, turned the volume down low and settled in letting the whoosh of the wall oxygen provide a sleep facilitating white noise to the room.


	8. Chapter 8

 

Dean’s body was in motion before he was awake enough to know why; something penetrating through his dreams to cause his muscles to react.  As feet touched linoleum and eyes pried open, he heard it again. A whimper, just an exhalation with the barest trace of sound really, accompanied by the rustling of sheets. Looking over, he saw Sam’s face scrunched up as his head thrashed back and forth on the crisp linen pillowcase. Dean stood and reached over, his hand going to his brother’s shoulder to rub a calming pattern over the joint. 

“Shhhhh.”

Sam stilled, his next breath a calming sigh instead of the previously distressed whine. Dean sat back on his cot, his fingers slowly sliding off Sam’s arm. As the pad of his middle finger fell free, Sam began to shift and his brows came together again. Replacing his hand and watching Sam calm once more, Dean was struck violently by the memory of his brother as a baby in the back seat of the Impala. After the fire Sam cried a lot, a motherless baby in search of comfort, only consoled if he could feel Dean. Those first few weeks found Dean’s hand a permanent fixture on Sam. Baby Sam never demanded his older brother’s attention, even though it was always given freely, just his touch. Taught at the tender age of 6 months to be satisfied with the least that could be offered. 

_Funny how life comes full circle_.

Glancing back at the roll away bed, he tried to judge the possibility of crawling back in and keeping a hand on his brother. Dean sighed and circled Sam’s bed, his hand trailing down one leg and up the other, fingers never lifting or lessening in pressure. He lowered the bedrail and climbed in behind him, arm, careful of the injured ribs, wrapping around the younger man’s waist. 

Sam was shivering and Dean shifted closer, molding his body against Sam’s back, trying to siphon off some of his natural warmth into him. Dean settled his head on Sam’s pillow, vision filled with shaggy brown hair, and moved forward to bury his nose in the soft locks. Under the scent of the hospital, Dean could still smell Sam’s shampoo, the same baby formula he’d washed Sam’s hair with since he had hair, the same baby formula their mother had used on his own.  He inhaled deeply, pulling the scent into his lungs. Dean’s lips parted and mouthed at the curling ends at the base of Sam’s neck before he moved a fraction of an inch closer to press wet lips to the skin beneath. Licking his lips, his eyes involuntarily closed as the taste of Sam’s skin burst across his tongue.

_See how things progress? First kissing, now creepy brother licking. Get a grip, man._ **Bite me.**

Dean pulled back, but kept his nose slotted in the brown tresses to continue to breath Sam scented air. He slid the hand over his brother’s waist up until his palm rested over Sam’s heart. 

 

*****

 

Dean jerked imperceptibly and cracked an eye, hunter instincts on alert, when he felt a presence in the room. His heart sped up when his slitted gaze fell on Casey moving beside the bed. So far she’d been compassionate and understanding of Dean’s need to be near Sam, but he wasn’t sure that would extend to finding him, well, for all intents and purposes, snuggled up behind him. 

Casey’s face remained pleasantly passive as if the brothers’ position was of little concern as she lifted Dean’s arm off Sam’s and set it down across Sam’s waist well below the outer perimeter of bruising on his ribs. She tenderly maneuvered Sam’s arm to surround it with a blood pressure cuff and as the machine softly whirred, she placed the tip of a thermometer in his ear.  Taking a small pad of paper from her front pocket, she wrote down the numbers obtained by the two machines before ejecting the plastic cover on the thermometer tip into the garbage can and as quietly as possible removed the cuff from Sam’s arm. At the sound of the Velcro separating, Sam stirred in his sleep, a soft whimper falling from his lips. Casey reached over and swept the tips of her finger across Sam’s forehead and the boy slipped back into a deep slumber.  Her gaze slid over the now sleeping man to his less sleeping brother to see green eyes watching her movements. Smiling, she lightly took Dean’s hand and moved it back into position over Sam’s heart. Bending over, she pressed a tender kiss to Dean’s temple.

“Sleep, Dean. You’re both safe here.” 

A sense of calm and peace stole over him and he burrowed into Sam’s back again. He heard her say something else, but sleep beckoned and Dean followed.

 

*****

 

Dean was in that sleepy, warm place again, that lying in the sun space in time. He nestled into it further, allowing it to seep under his skin. Soft lips pressed against his and electricity zinged down the nerve pathways of his spine lighting his entire body up with a tingling desire. Dean’s mouth, well versed in the art of kissing, moved on its own, parting slightly and gently dancing with those on his. 

Even with his vast repertoire, he had never experienced a kiss like this before. He’d shared hungry, devouring kisses; needy, reassuring kisses; and dirty, seductive kisses, but this was different. The lips that were bold enough to initiate the contact turned tentative and questioning like the owner wasn’t sure Dean wanted to be kissed and he found that hesitant touch to be blindingly hot. His head shifted on the pillow to get a better angle on the moist skin gliding against his, tongue slipping forward, communicating his want and permission through his actions. Sensing his intentions, a tongue met him half-way and as the tips touched, Dean’s body jolted into the warmth in front of him. 

Spurred on by his desire, his hand reached up tangling in long hair and he thrust his tongue forward into the hot, wet cavern taking control. A vaguely familiar flavor exploded on his taste buds as he deepened the kiss. Dean’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath through his nose, reluctant to break the contact even for oxygen. Smells invaded his senses and mixed with the taste ramping up his lust further: faint traces of sweat, sun, iodine and baby shampoo.

_Baby shampoo?_

Dean‘s head jerked back breaking the kiss. His eyes snapped open for the first time since rousing and took in the form of his brother lying in front of him looking flushed and dazed.  Somehow Sam had disentangled himself from the wires attached to the monitor and shed the oxygen mask. Dean knew he should protest and make his brother put them back on, but at this particular moment he really had more pressing concerns. Searching the hazel orbs he’d centered his life around for 17 years for how badly he’d fucked everything in his world up, all he found was love and invitation. 

“Sammy?”  

“Please…” Sam’s eyes slid closed as he whispered the word, breath ghosting over Dean’s lips. Sucking in a harsh breath, Dean pulled Sam’s exhalation into his lungs, into his soul. 

Pushing forward, Dean closed his eyes too. He knew the sight of Sam almost as well as he knew himself and as much as he wanted to see him in this new light, he wanted to feel him first; let his other senses create the vision. His tongue returned home to Sam’s mouth and began to map every inch of the inside, savoring the taste there; fingers traced the contours of Sam’s stomach before skimming over his sides to run up and down the muscles of his back, ears soaked in the sounds of Sam’s labored breathing as he tried to draw in air without pulling away and everywhere Sam’s smell assaulted him. Lightly he dragged the fingertips of one hand up and the other hand down, grazing the exposed skin between the two sides of Sam’s hospital gown, until they met the ties at the neck and mid-back. Working the bows loose, Dean pulled the thin fabric forward and his mouth latched on Sam’s collarbone as he slid his brother’s arms free. He wasn’t sure what all Sam’s ‘please’ encompassed but decided to keep going until he was told to stop. 

He dragged his hand up Sam’s arm followed by his mouth, tongue laving and teeth scraping over muscle and skin. At the round of the shoulder, his lips headed to Sam’s neck while his hand ran down Sam’s side feeling smooth skin interrupted by the odd scar here and there that Dean’s mind automatically supplied a date and place for before curling over his waist.

 He felt Sam’s fingers creep under his t-shirt and his warm palms smooth over the muscles of Dean’s chest. Passing by his nipples, Sam flicked the buds causing Dean to groan and tighten his grip on his brother. Reaching Dean’s clavicles, Sam’s questing hands made a u-turn and began a lazy route down Dean’s ribs until they reached the waistband of his jeans. Nimble fingers delved under the fabric and drew forward until they came together at the button. Heat shot through Dean at the tugging sensation of Sam slipping the button from the hole and lowering the zipper and he moved his hands down to cup Sam’s ass, hips jolting up when he discovered that Sam didn’t have underwear on beneath the gown. 

He sighed when he felt his cock released from the confining pressure of his pants, quickly turning into a moan when Sam’s cool fingers ventured into his boxer-briefs and pulled him free of the cotton.

“Oh, God. Sammy,” he groaned, eyelids flying open desperate to see Sam’s hand wrapped around him.

Panting hard, Dean rested his forehead on Sam’s shoulder as his brother began to move his hand mind-blowingly over his hard length, down…up…twist…swipe…repeat. The hand not already preoccupied on Dean’s body cupped the back of his head.

“It’s alright, Dean.  I want this. I want you.”

At those words, whispered in his ear, Dean’s body flew into motion. His head lifted again to claim Sam’s mouth as his hand traveled forward over the sharp jut of Sam’s hip bone and batted Sam’s hand away from him. As the hand still squeezing and massaging Sam’s ass glided up to rest on the small of his back and pull him forward, Dean wrapped his other hand around both their cocks. Simultaneous moans escaped their lips as the silky, precome streaked fleshes were pressed together. The moans turned to cries when Dean moved his hand up and down, their natural lubrication allowing them to slide easily in the circle of Dean’s fingers and against each other, bringing them the friction they both so desperately needed. Dean released Sam’s mouth to gulp huge lungfuls of air as fire tore through him and he felt Sam’s warm breath next to his ear gasping his name in between frantic inhales. 

Dean’s balls tightened at the sound of his name in Sam’s throaty, sex blown voice and he bit his bottom lip to hold back when the need to cum slammed into him. Sam noticing the motion leaned forward and ran his tongue over the abused flesh then moved lower over his jaw and down to the portion of skin where shoulder meets neck. Licking once, Sam reared back slightly before biting hard, rolling the skin between his teeth then licking again to soothe the sting away. Dean whimpered and stretched his neck to the side, giving Sam more room to work.

Sam began to mouth and nibble his way over Dean’s shoulder and Dean was lost in the sensory overload of Sam all around him. He tightened the hand around them as he worked harder to bring them their release, desperate to see Sam come undone.

He heard a cough and lifted his head to see Sam continuing his teeth, lip, tongue exploration of his chest. Another cough followed then several more, each bone rattling and deep, but Sam’s mouth never left Dean’s body. A raspy ‘Dean’ in Sam’s voice that definitely did not come from the brother licking his nipple made him stop all movement.

“Dean!”

Waking was akin to having a band-aid ripped off, raw and painful. Sam was leaning over the bedrail in front of him clutching his side as more coughs wracked his thin frame. Finally, catching a breath that gave Dean enough time to move back slightly on the bed, Sam leaned back panting. 

“Sorry, I woke you,” Sam mumbled sleepily, his voice hoarse from the cough.

Reaching over to the table to get Sam’s cup of water, he held it to his brother’s lips allowing Sam to take several long swallows before setting it down. “Don’t worry about it, Sammy. Just try to go back to sleep.” 

Dean rubbed a hand over Sam’s chest until the rise and fall evened out. Moving slowly, careful to not wake Sam, Dean slipped off the bed and headed into the bathroom. Once inside, he flipped the light on, wincing at the brightness, and looked at himself in the mirror. A flush spread from his cheeks to below the neckline of his t-shirt and his pupils were large, almost completely obscuring the green irises. Taking a few calming breaths he tried to take stock of what just happened.

 _What’s there to think about? You just had a sex dream about Sam. About kissing and touching him, making his beg and moan for you. Pant out your name._   **Enough!**   **I can’t help what I dream about.** _You’re awake now._ So? _You’re still thinking about it._

Running his hand down, he felt the bulge hidden behind the fly of his jeans and groaned at the contact. 

**Oh, fuck** _._ _You might as well take care of that._ **What?!** _If you’re going to hell you might as well enjoy the ride._

Blowing out a defeated huff (who knew that arguing with yourself could be more exhausting than arguing with your little brother), Dean undid his pants and took hold of his rigid cock. Closing his eyes, he let images of his dream play out behind his eyelids and Dean came hard after only a few strokes, biting his bottom lip to keep from calling out anything resembling a name.  Flushing the toilet and the evidence of his activities, Dean splashed water on his face and straightened himself out. Stumbling out of the bathroom, still a little unsteady from the intensity of his orgasm, he saw Sam turn to look at him.

“You ‘kay, Dean.”

“I’m fine, Sam. Go back to sleep,” Dean made his way to the roll away bed.

“Lay with me again,” Sam sleepily slurred. Dean hesitated, scraping a hand over his face. 

_This is a really bad idea._

“Please, Dean. It makes me feel better. Safe.”

_Crap._

Dean moved around the bed and scooted in behind Sam, careful to keep his hips back. Just in case.  His nose nuzzled into Sam’s hair like it belonged there and the smell of baby shampoo triggered a sense memory in Dean that brought back scenes of mouths and hands and a breathy voice saying his name. Dean jerked his head back and buried his face into the pillow that still smelled more like industrial laundry detergent than Sam.  He forced his breathing to slow and his tense muscles to relax. After what seemed an eternity, he drifted back off with a last fleeting thought about how Sam was going to have to use a different shampoo from now on.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean shifted on the bed and pointed his toes to stretch the calf of his right leg. Enjoying the satisfying pull of muscle, he relaxed back into the mattress reluctant to leave the tranquility behind his eyelids. A surprised laugh accompanied by a deeper chuckle, one he’d know anywhere but hadn’t heard in too long, melted any resistance Dean had to waking and he opened sleep heavy eyes.

“Don’t make me laugh.” Sam groaned in a breathy whisper.

Sam and Casey stood next to the bed and from the appearance of things, Sam had stumbled forward into the girl and she was now holding him up, his tall frame hunched over her smaller one. Carefully, she eased him into the waiting chair with another small laugh and a mocking “Timber”.

“God, thank you. I don’t think I could take lying down another minute.”

“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you up and around. Dean’s gonna be so tickled.” Dean stifled a snort. _Tickled? You had to love Southern colloquialisms._  She graced Sam with a warm smile before reaching over to the bed to pull the covers back over the older Winchester brother. “Speak of the angel. Good morning, Dean. Breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The roll away had once again been pushed into the corner and another chair was sitting next to the one Sam was in, the one Dean usually occupied. “Wow, Sammy. Look at you. Vertical and everything.”

“I’m a walking, talking miracle,” he chuckled softly and the sound flowed in Dean’s ears and around his heart. “C’mon, man. Let’s eat.”

Dean stood and rolled his shoulders before extending his arms above his head. Hands clasped, he leaned to the left then the right stretching the muscles of his torso. Craning his neck side to side to hear the crack of the vertebrae, he dropped into the empty chair as Casey lowered the wheeled bed table to an acceptable height for the seated men. Lifting the lid on the tray to reveal a stack of blueberry pancakes, Sam’s favorite, and a heaping plate of eggs with bacon and sausage, his favorite, Dean couldn’t help the trickle of suspicion that moved down his spine. “Huh.”

“Something wrong, Dean. Your food not to your liking?” Casey’s brow furrowed as she examined his plate.

“No. It’s perfect. That’s what’s not to my liking. How do you know what to bring us? You’ve never asked. Yesterday it was apple fritters. I love apple fritters. Last night it was burgers and Sam’s favorite soup. Now you bring us our ideal breakfast. How are you doing it?” Dean wariness pushed a sharp tone to his voice he hadn’t really intended, but damnit his hunter senses were tingling. Casey had been nothing but good to him and Sam, but it was too much of a coincidence and Dean didn’t believe in coincidence. 

“Dean!” Sam’s cry was the same one he used whenever Dean embarrassed him. Refusing to feel sorry about his question and damn well expecting an answer, Dean crossed his arms and waited.

“Dean,” Casey sighed. “It’s September in North Carolina. Apples are now in season so each morning the pastry is apple themed. Today’s is an apple danish, if you’d prefer that over what I brought you. The soup on Friday has been wild mushroom for the last two years. I can have someone  from Dietary come up and confirm it for you. The burger, well, you just seemed like a burger kind of guy.” By the end, Casey’s accent had slipped into the deep twang that Dean had learned to associate with her temper.

His arms loosened slightly. “What about breakfast? Did Sam just seem like a blueberry pancake ‘kind of guy’ ‘cuz I know that they aren’t in season?”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice was harsher this time almost bordering on angry. Dean tore his eyes away from the girl in front of him to meet the hard glare Sam leveled at him. “I filled out a meal request form last night and picked our breakfast from the selections. I even made a special order so you could have both bacon and sausage. What the hell has gotten into you, man?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…I’m just tired, I guess.” Crap. What _was_ wrong with him? He’d basically accused one of the few people he’d ever met that was nice to him of spying on them. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it but something was off today. Like an arthritis sufferer sensing an upcoming storm in their joints, Dean could feel trouble coming in the tightness of his skin. Now he just needed to find the source and apparently he wasn’t above accusing everybody.

“It’s okay, Dean. Next time, you don’t trust me…let’s just talk, okay? I told you before, I won’t lie to you.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile, not genuine but a valiant effort. Nodding, Dean stared at his plate to hide the guilt – _wow, was that a novel feeling_ – he felt creeping across his face in a blush.  

 “Anyway.” She exhaled, stretching the word out a few syllables to signal an obvious change in subject. “Sam, think you’re up for a shower today?”

“Is that you’re way of telling me I smell?” Laughing, Sam dropped his fork so one hand could hold his ribs while the other covered his mouth as his lungs clenched and forced out a small round of coughs. 

“If the stench fits,” her usual smile returned.

“Yeah. I think I can handle it. I feel kinda scummy.”

“Great. You’re still a little unsteady on your feet so you’ll need someone close by in case you need help. I’m happy to stay, but you might be more comfortable with Dean. If that’s okay with y’all?”

Dean’s head snapped up from his plate and his contemplation of the suicidal possibility of drowning in eggs after his earlier outburst, to see Sam go tomato red and a look of panic cross his face at Casey’s offer to help him.  He huffed a laugh of his own at Sam’s reaction. A hot nurse and a shower was like the key plot points to every guy’s naughty Florence Nightingale fantasy. Apparently, every guy except for Dean’s girl-shy little brother. Sam turned wide pleading eyes to Dean.

“No problem.” _Yes, problem_. “I’ll give you a hand.” _I bet you will._ “We’ll do it when we’re done eating.” _Not even going to comment on that one._ Sam nodded his head and gave Dean a grateful look from under his bangs, face lightening to a more natural shade.

“Okay. Sam, since you’re a ‘walking talking miracle’ as you put it, you’re allowed to wear something a little more modest around the hospital. I found some of the scrubs we keep on hand for Trotter,” she tilted her chin in the direction of a pile of forest green clothes on the small cabinet on the other side of Sam’s bed, “they should be long enough in the leg even if they’ll probably be a little big in the shoulders. Still, it’s gotta be better than a backless gown.  Dean, I’m not sure what you have available to you for clothing so I pulled a set of scrubs for you as well, in case you wanted a shower this morning too. I guessed at you’re size so let me know if they don’t fit.”  She eyed a stack of black clothes next to Sam’s green ones. “Both sets are brand new, never been worn. One of the orderlies had an unopened package of briefs in his locker, not sure why so don’t ask, and they look like they’ll work.” Casey’s eyes glassed over for a moment and her head tilted to the side like she was listening to something in another room. Her forehead creased as she turned her unblinking eyes out the window. Dean twisted in his seat and followed her gaze but nothing seemed unusual behind the paned glass, the manicured grounds and sheltering mountainside innocuous in the weak morning light filtering through the smoky fog cover. As quickly as it began, Casey‘s concentrated stare broke suddenly and she shuddered. Blinking a few times, she shook her head and smiled.

“I’ll, um, leave you guys to it.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugged before taking another syrup heavy bite. _Sometimes that girl was weird._

 

_*****_

 

The boys finished their food and came to the consensus that no matter where in the country they got hurt on the next hunt it would be worth the risk of exsanguination just to drive back here for the food alone. Dean turned on the television, flipping through the channels until settling on a Tom and Jerry cartoon to draw out the time until Sam decided to heed the call of hot water. The longer he thought about it, the more he agreed with his snarky inner voice that said there was a problem. Several times Dean had to forcefully detour his mind from thoughts of rivulets of water running down long spans of tan skin and lean muscle rippling under sudsy hands, to prevent an interesting conversation starter when he stood up. 

“Dean?”

“Hmmm?” Dean kept his attention focused on the television, afraid of what Sam would see on his face.

“Do you think that dreams can come true?”

“You mean like that shit those Disney princesses sing about?

“No, Dean,” Sam blew out an exasperated sigh. “I mean like normal people dreams. Like the ones you have at night.”

“Why?”

 “Nothing. I was just wondering.”

“Did you have the clown dream again? Did mean ole’ Ronald McDonald try to get you? You know he’s not real, right?” Grinning, Dean turned away from the animated antics on the screen finally feeling on solid ground, nothing like teasing Sam to set the world right again. Dean’s smile fell when he caught sight of his little brother. Sam stared blankly out the window, teeth pressed into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and fingers dancing along the hem of his gown. A neon sign blinking ‘ANGST’ would have been more subtle. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing, really,” eyes still diverted, voice distant, mind somewhere else. Yeah, nothing, sure.

“Sam?” Dean waited until hazel eyes found his. “What did you dream about? Talk to me.”

“Dean, I swear it’s…”

“Sam,” he growled, interrupting, “so help me if you say ‘nothing’ again.”

“Fine.   I had a weird dream last night. You were in it and I’m pretty sure Casey was there too. All I remember clearly is hearing a gun shot and blood. Lots and lots of blood.”

Dean examined Sam carefully. “You took that psycho-ology  course last year. The mind takes things from everyday life, throws them in a blender and pours the mess out in the form of dreams. And with what we deal with, yours would be gorier than most people’s. Don’t worry about it. It was probably a meshing of yesterday with a little bit of our real life added in for flavor.” He patted Sam’s knee and gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster.

The corners of Sam’s mouth jerked in a brief smile, there and gone in the blink of an eye.  He turned back to his older brother, nodding slightly, before lifting his eyes to watch Tom whack Jerry over the head with a spatula. Reassured, but not convinced. Dean directed his own eyes back to the screen, but kept careful watch with sidelong glances on the troubled man next to him.

 

*****

 

Half an hour of silence later, Sam pushed the rolling table away and heaved a sigh. Shoving at Dean’s feet propped up on the side of the bed and blocking his path, Sam scooted through to get the clothes off the cabinet. Dean’s eyes snapped to the ceiling when Sam passed as memories of Dream Sam going commando came back full force. Dean could still feel the weight and shape of Sam’s ass in his hands just like he’d actually had them there, the softness of the skin and tightness of the muscles. His mind wandered further and his dick jerked in his jeans.

“Dean?”

Pulled from his daydream, Dean’s head jerked awkwardly in the direction of his brother who was giving him a look that clearly said he was waiting on an answer.

“Sorry, I zoned for a second. Guess, I’m still waking up. What did you say, Sam?”

“I said I was getting tired and wondered if you’d mind helping me with that shower now so I can lie down. Are you okay? You’re acting weird this morning.” Sam’s eyes were full of concern.

“’M fine, Sam. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

*****

 

Sam’s shower hadn’t turned into the monumental disaster that Dean feared it would. When he untied his brother’s gown it only required a small amount of effort to quell the sense of deja vu’ and ignore the fantasied memory of how Sam’s collarbone tasted. He was relieved to find that, unlike Dream Sam, Real-life Sam was a prude and definitely wore underwear. Sam insisted that he could handle the actual act of bathing on his own and they ended up in a compromise that Dean would stand outside the slightly ajar door, within calling distance, in case Sam needed him. It was an arrangement they believed would also appease Casey should she come in to check.

The sound of the water shutting off and Sam shuffling around drifted out of the partially opened door and Dean breathed a little easier with the knowledge he would not be required to come to the aid of his very naked, very wet little brother. Sam opened the door, already dressed in the soft cotton scrubs, towel draped over his head. Stretching his arms up to dry his hair, he winced as the movement pulled the tightened muscles guarding his broken ribs. Dean’s limbs, recognizing the need, moved automatically trained from years of practice. He reached over and swiped the towel a few times over his brother’s mop of brown hair that was in desperate need of a cut. He pulled the terry cloth softness down and wrapped it around the back of Sam’s neck, hands still clutching the ends. It was then that he discovered how close they’d gotten during the drying process. 

Drinking in the sight of Sam, hair mussed and face flushed, Dean chucked his naughty Nightingale fantasy in lieu of a dirty Dr. Winchester one.  When their gazes met, Dean noticed that the color of the scrubs accentuated a similar shade in Sam’s multi-toned eyes, bringing the green to the forefront. The weight of his brother’s stare seemed to pin Dean in place, not only locking his eyes but all the parts of his body as well. Hypnotized by the green-amber depths, he felt his body sway toward Sam, a magnet drawn to its polar opposite. They were so close now that Dean felt Sam’s breath on his lips and he ran his tongue over the skin to try to taste it, taste Sam. Sam’s eyes tracked the motion and something new and hungry flickered in them. A spark charged the air between them, Dean’s breath hitched as the current touched him and he leaned in a fraction of an inch more.

“Boys?”

John’s gruff word acted on them like the wakening kiss in so many fairy tales, breaking the spell. Both Winchester brothers jumped back at the sound and regarded their father with guilty looks that their welcoming smiles couldn’t completely hide. Sam’s ‘Dad’ mixed with Dean’s ‘Sir’ to create a garbled greeting.

“Sam, you seem to be doing better. Your brother led me to believe yesterday that you were on death’s door,” John leveled an appraising look at Sam before he turned cold eyes on his oldest.

“Yesterday I _was_ on death’s door. I had a tube shoved down my throat so I could breathe and about five bags of stuff pumping into my veins. According to the doctors, I’m doing better than expected. A combination of medication and a strong immune system or so I’m told.” Dean flinched at the steely tone in Sam’s voice and found it hard to believe this was the same person who’d laughed with Casey this morning over body odor. 

Dean felt as Sam’s eyes slid to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if Sam was seeking comfort or confirmation, but Dean was too preoccupied by the sight visible over his Dad’s shoulder to give it any real consideration. The sense of unease from earlier crept over him again causing his skin to prickle and his protective nature kicked into overdrive. Reaching over, he curled his fingers around Sam’s wrist and pulled his brother behind him. 

“Sam, you’ve been up and around for a while. I know you’re getting tired. Why don’t you lie down and rest?” Dean tugged gently on Sam’s arm to prod him into action. He waited until Sam was settled in the bed before he spoke again.

“Bobby. Caleb.” Dean nodded his head in the direction of his father’s friends filling the doorway. Both men resolutely avoided Dean’s gaze, instead their anger tinged eyes were trained on the back of the senior Winchester’s head. Dean could feel the tension between the trio, it was evident they’d been arguing.  He couldn’t look at his father, just continued to stare at the men entering the room behind him, as puzzle pieces snapped into place. “You guys just get into town?”

“Not exactly. We got in a few days ago to help your Dad.” Bobby flat reply echoed in the quiet of the room. Dean’s eyes narrowed as both men’s faces hardened and the final piece clicked into place. Bobby and Caleb had been with their Dad the whole time Sam had been sick and, by their expressions, thought Dean knew it.

“Oh. Wow. Must have been a helluva hunt. What was it again,” he asked innocently, finally looking at his father. It was a question that Dean knew his father would answer without hesitation. John had been asked some variation of it a thousand times by both his sons and his mind would supply an answer without conscious thought. Before it could be censored, spun into a believable lie.

“Salt and burn.”

“It took three hunters to do a salt and burn. That was one badass spirit.” Dean pursed his lips into a frown and raised his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping off his words into big pools on the ground. 

Suddenly the floor was the most interesting thing in the room. Both Bobby and Caleb’s eyes dropped to study the flecked pattern of the tiles, unable to witness the family war they were an unwitting participant in by association.

Years from now, when Dean thinks back on this moment, he’ll always wonder what would have happened, how far the argument would have gone. Would he and John have come to blows? But he’ll never know because just as John opened his mouth, Casey walked in, pen moving furiously across the chart balanced on her forearm.

“Hey, Sam. Did you need -“ The rest of her words were lost as wide eyes took in the five men in Sam’s room.

Over her head, Dean could see the light mounted in the ceiling outside the door, the one that signaled the nurse call button had been pressed and he looked over to his brother. Sam’s breaths were labored, his anxious face volleyed back and forth between his father and Dean, his thumb still held down the orange button on the bedrail. Dean’s brows drew together, but before any questions could be asked, his attention was snatched back to the others in the room. 

“Casey!” The word was harmonized by Bobby’s fond tone and Caleb’s lusty one, the end result a happy acknowledgment for an old friend. Dean’s mind had barely processed the familiarity of their greeting and what that meant when a metallic click forced him to focus in another direction.  John stood, lips curled into a snarl, his 9 millimeter cocked and aimed at the girl’s heart.

“Hello, Bitch.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Hello, John.”

“Wait a minute. You guys know each other,” Dean snarled.

“You can say that,” John growled as he tightened his grip on the gun still pointed at Casey. 

“Dean, Casey is a hunter,” Bobby added. He and Caleb moved quietly within arms distance of John, not sure what their friend had in mind.

 _A hunter?_ Dean’s mind spun. _Casey was a hunter?_

“Sam?” Casey’s soft voice seemed out of place among the gruff male ones.  As if completely oblivious of the weapon trained on her, her concerned eyes were locked on the youngest Winchester. “Are you okay?”

Dean’s head snapped to Sam. Now that his attention was back on his brother, he could hear his rattling gasps. Sam’s frantic fingers were digging into the sheets as he tried to control his panic. Dean reached down, unclenched the digits from the cloth and curled his hand in his brother’s larger one. “Sam?”

 In his peripheral view, he saw Casey take a step toward Sam’s bed before John stopped her. “Stay the fuck away from Sam. I don’t know what you’re playing at with this nurse shit, but I’m not buying it.”

Eyes darting from Sam’s distressed face to John’s steely one, Casey’s jaw tightened causing the muscle to jump.  “Never said I was a nurse.  I _am_ a combat trained Paramedic though and as such this hospital gives me privileges.  Now, please, John.  I know that you don’t like me, but your son’s sick. Let me help him. Please.” Dean watched as she searched his father’s face, expression, too honest to be faked, silently begging him to let her move closer.

John met Casey’s desperate voice and pleading eyes with a cold glare that Dean remembered too clearly from his childhood. “I said stay away from him, witch’”

 _Witch?_ The word bounced around in Dean’s head for a second before it settled enough for his mind to take it in. He swung his neck around so fast the crack of the vertebrae was audible to the stunned room. It seemed everyone was still reacting to the word, John smug, Bobby and Caleb slack jawed, and Casey, she was frightening. 

Her dark eyes, just moments ago looking at Sam with alarm and worry, narrowed and hardened into chocolate diamonds as they bored into John’s hazel ones. Rage seized her pretty features and distorted them into a feral expression, animalistic and savage. It was at this moment that Dean realized so far he’d only seen Casey annoyed because what he was seeing now, this, this was Casey pissed.

“Witch,” she spat. 

“If it fits.”

“You know calling me a witch is a lot like calling your boys demons.” Casey appeared to have reigned herself in, voice controlled and devoid of inflection, but Dean could see anger still rolling of her in waves. 

Her stare-off with the older man ended abruptly when John’s glance faltered at her words. Casey titled her head slightly to the side and her brows scrunched together, face softening into a confused expression. Her narrowed eyes liquefied and grew distant, drifting down to stare at a point on the floor to John’s right. Unblinking, she remained that way as the second hand on the clock over the door ticked and Sam continued to struggle for a deep breath. When Dean had counted 15 clicks and 6 gasps, her still vacant gaze raised back to John’s face. Blinking furiously, a slight tremor shook her and her eyes focused. Back in the here and now, she turned to Sam and stepped closer. 

“I told you to stay away,” John’s voice boomed in the previously quiet room.

“I’m going to help Sam. You’ll have to shoot me if you want to stop me.” Casey walked cautiously but determinedly to Sam’s bedside, ignoring the other men in the room as she concentrated on him. She reached behind the bed and pulled the oxygen mask, that Sam had been so grateful to discard not a few short hours ago, from the hook it hung on and gently placed it back over Sam’s nose and mouth. Slowly, letting all her actions be known, she twisted the knob on the regulator attached to the wall and a soft whooshing sound filled the air. She leaned over the bedrail so Sam could see her clearly.

“Casey?” Zoe’s confused voice floated to Dean’s ears from the open doorway. Taking in the six people, her gaze settled on the gun in John’s hand. 

“Zoe! I wondered why the bitch was off her leash.” John swiveled his arm so the gun now faced the dark haired girl side stepping into the room until she stopped at Casey’s side. Dean looked over Sam’s still tense body to see Casey’s eyelids close and her shoulders rise and fall with an accompanying sigh.

Zoe’s voice dipped low, obviously for the other girl’s ear only, but Dean was so close he could hear them clearly. “You alright?”

“Better than Sam,” Casey mumbled back, hand raising to the young man’s brow.

“Don’t!” The warning in John’s voice was clear and the gun drifted back to Casey. Casey’s placid gaze never wavered from Sam as her hand continued its path to his face. Her fingertips lightly touched his forehead and began tracing a slow path, smoothing worry lines on each pass. “Sam, you need to calm down and breathe deeply.  Nothing has changed from this morning. Everything’s fine. You’re just upset.”

Dean watched as the muscles of Sam’s body relaxed, the words and touch acting as a soothing balm to his tension. As Sam melted back into the pillows, his breathing cleared and slowed. Dean raised his eyes and met Casey’s head on. She smiled, her expression open and peaceful. “Dean, remember that I have never lied to you. We are not the enemy,” she whispered before leaning back. Dean tilted his head down to see the confusion he felt on his brother face.

Standing, Casey moved to the end of Sam’s bed and like a shadow Zoe followed. They stood side by side at Sam’s feet blocking the Winchester brothers from the older men still present. Dean saw Zoe’s hand brush briefly against the small of Casey’s back confirming by touch the bulge there as her other hand slowly wandered to the back of her own scrubs. The lifted hem revealed a back holster, but as her fingers dragged over the black metal Casey’s head shook imperceptibly from side to side.  Zoe’s hand dropped to her side and her shoulders squared next to the younger girl’s.

“Did you know that the werewolf Sam killed last week had a mate? A mate that was pissed off, wanting serious payback and had his scent in its nose,” Casey asked, shrewd eyes on the man holding her at gunpoint. Dean’s stomach tightened. It never occurred to him that there was more than one; he’d trusted that his father had covered his bases.

When John’s only response was a slight dip in the muzzle of his gun, Casey continued, “We killed it on Sunday halfway between Sam’s school and the house you rented them.”

“What are you trying to insinuate,” John ground out through gritted teeth. His features screamed fury, but Dean had spent his entire life studying the man’s face. He knew when his father had been caught in a lie and was on the defensive. 

“Nothing. Just wondered if you knew.” Casey shifted to the left, blocking Dean from his father’s, and consequently the gun’s, line of sight.

“You helped Sam. Now, get out!”

Casey didn’t flinch at John’s bellowing, but turned her focus to the men standing behind him. “Bobby, something is circling. Pretty far away but getting closer.”

“How soon?” The lines on the older man’s face deepened and Caleb nervously transferred his weight from one leg to the other.

“Depends. It’s hard to tell.”

“For which?” Bobby’s mustache twitched as his mouth fixed into a thin line.

“One definitely, but more than likely both. Just be warned.”

“Enough! Get out,” John nearly screamed.

Casey finally seemed aware of the weapon on her and the manic man holding it. “We’ll leave and I promise to not contact your sons, John.” Turning her back on the gun still trained at her heart, she gave the brothers an apologetic smile. “I’ll have Susan take over my duties with you. If that’s okay with you, Sam?” At Sam’s nod, she smiled again, nodded and left the room guiding Zoe by the elbow.

John lowered and holstered his gun as the other four men stood in dazed silence processing the events of the last fifteen minutes.  Bobby broke his reverie first.

“John, what the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Stay out of this Bobby. You’ve always had a soft spot for that little whore just like you did for her mother.” Dean frozen body thawed. He’d never heard his father talk about anyone like this, like he hated them, like he did about the demon. His head hurt with too many revelations revealed in a short amount of time.  His shirt pulled tight across the back of his neck and he looked down at hazel orbs round with the same question on his mind. _What the hell?_

“You were really going to shoot her. Have you lost all sense?” Bobby was dumbstruck, staring at his friend like he didn’t know the man.

“So? What would it matter?”

“So,” Caleb’s voice entered the argument, slightly high-pitched in incredulity. “She’s human! We don’t kill humans.”

“I don’t care.”

Dean rocked back on his heels reeling and felt Sam’s hand tighten where it was still clasped in his as his muscles went rigid in shock. What the hell was going on? His father hadn’t come when Sam was sick. He knew the werewolf had a mate and didn’t take care of it or warn his children of its presence.  And now, after years of saving people, he was willing to shoot a human and for what? Caring for his youngest? Dean’s mind turned these thoughts over and kept coming up with the same conclusions. His father wasn’t worried about keeping them safe and didn’t seem worried about whether Sam lived or died. The only thing that he did seem to care about was keeping Casey away from them. Dean’s whole world tilted sideways and he felt nauseous.

“Dean, get your brother dressed and ready. We’re leaving. When you’re done have him discharged. It’ll be easier to get him out that way.” John’s command voice had Dean’s spine straightening automatically. When he hesitated, a barked “Now” followed in short order.

“No.”

Stunned, John turned to his oldest. The word was Sam’s but the voice was Dean’s, the first time ever. “What did you say?”

“I-,” Dean faltered under the scrutinizing glare of his father. His courage flailed until the reason for his defiance tugged the fabric of his shirt again. He had to keep Sam safe, protect him, nothing else mattered. Right now, he didn’t know who to trust but John was definitely not at the top of his list. “I said no. Sam is still too sick to leave the hospital. You saw what that little bit of stress did to him. We’ll leave when Dr. Trotter feels he’s well enough.”

“Fine. I’ll go have him discharged. I’m still his father.”

Dean stood and rolled his shoulders back. “You can try. Remember those papers you had Bobby draw up in case there was an emergency and you weren’t around? In case something exactly like this happened? The ones showing me as Sam’s legal guardian?” Dean paused, his voice gaining strength as he continued. “According to Angel’s Mercy Hospital, I’m legally responsible for Sam and the only one that can sign him out.”

“You son of a bitch. You can’t keep Sam from me, Dean. He’s still my son no matter what that fucking paper says.” In a flash, John lunged toward his children. Dean moved, arms flung wide, to shield Sam from the attack as Bobby and Caleb reached out and took hold of the senior Winchester. 

“Dad,” Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I think it’s time you left.”

“What?” John struggled against his friends’ grip, clearly at a loss.

Dean took a deep breath and looked down when cold fingers entwined with the ones he still had splayed protectively against Sam’s stomach. Sam showing his support, solidifying their front. His whole body exuded love and trust. Where Dean went Sam was willingly going to follow. Just like always, just like their father trained them, Dean and Sam side by side against any foe. Even when the foe was their father.  “We want you to leave.”

“The fuck I will.”

Caleb tightened his grip on John’s arm with his left hand as his right slinked under the man’s jacket to relieve John’s holster of the gun he’d placed there.  “Yeah, the fuck you will.” Using the muzzle of the gun, he pushed John in the direction of the door. 

“Bobby?”

 The older man was at the doorway following on the heels of Caleb who was all but frog-marching John out at gun point.  Seeing the look on Dean’s face, he stopped. “Yeah?”

“I think we deserve some answers.”

Bobby took in the faces of the boys he’d come to think of as nephews and could see the confusion, pain and anger there. He heaved a deep sigh and lifted his ever present ball cap from his head by the bill to run his palm back and forth over his hair before reseating it. “Where do you want me to start?”

“How about we start with who Casey really is and how you all know her and end with the OK Corral showdown that we almost witnessed?” Dean dropped Sam’s hand and reached behind him to grab the chair, bumping the bed table that still held the breakfast Casey had brought them earlier. Shoving it further out of the way in a show of aggravation, he pulled the chair closer to Sam’s bed with a scraping of the legs on the linoleum. He kicked the empty chair toward Bobby in an obvious invitation for him to sit down as well.

Bobby’s lips tightened into a thin line before he sighed again and took the proffered seat. “Like I said before, Casey, and Zoe for that matter, is a hunter of sorts.”

“What do you mean ‘of sorts’? What does that mean?” Dean looked over at Sam who shrugged an answer.

“Boy! Are you going to let me tell this or you gonna keep interrupting?”

“Sorry.”

“There are two things you need to understand before I start. One, hunting is not a new thing. As long as there has been evil in the world, there have been people that hunt that evil. Two, not all hunters get in the game for the same reason your father and I did, loss of a loved one and a need for revenge, for some it’s a heritage that gets passed down from one generation to another. Whole families passing demon killing traditions from parent to child.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly , eyebrows raised, “Why haven’t we ever met any of these families?”

Bobby hesitated, carefully studying the young men in front of him before coming to a decision. “You have. Casey and Zoe belong to two of the oldest hunting families there are, going back to biblical times. Hell, their ancestors may very well have been the damn origin of hunting.  According to their lore, angels chose a handful baby girls and blessed them with strength, virtue and special abilities to combat the evil on Earth. These traits passed down from mother to daughter over the centuries. Throughout the years, they’ve remained an organized group. The girls go to special schools and training camps. There is a hierarchy of authority that the military could actually learn something from.”

“So you’re telling me that Casey and Zoe are, what, Buffy the Demon Slayers?”

“I wouldn’t let Casey hear you call her that. She always said that Buffy was a no-talent hack.” All three men jumped at the deep voice from the doorway. Dr. Trotter filled the opening, arms crossed over his chest. “Bobby.” He nodded a hello to the older man as he entered the room.

“John.”

“Jesus, you know him too? Which brings me back to one of my original questions, how do you know these people?” Dean’s headache was beginning to throb. He watched warily as Dr. Trotter came over and, using his stethoscope, listened to Sam’s lungs. 

“I knew Casey’s mother, Rebecca. When my wife…”Bobby’s eyes flickered to the ground. “Becca was coming to help, but didn’t make it in time. I don’t think she ever forgave herself. She stayed with me, answered my questions. Without her, I don’t think I would have survived the days that followed. When I was ready, I asked her to teach me.”

Dean and Sam had never heard Bobby speak about his dead wife. They’d known that she was his reason for this lifestyle.

Dr. Trotter cleared his throat, “Sam, your lungs still sound good, relatively speaking. I think earlier was caused more from your anxiety than a relapse. If you think you can stay calm, you can take the mask off again. Dean, let Susie know if anything changes. I’ll let you gentlemen finish talking, but then Sam really needs to rest. Bobby, it was good to see you.” With a swish of a white coat, he exited leaving the men alone. 

At Dean’s arched eyebrow, “Trotter’s mother was Becca’s partner. He was a baby when I met them.”

“Come on, Bobby. You trying to tell me you buy into this crap. Angels? There’s no such thing. They’re a myth like, like unicorns or Big Foot.” Dean had stopped believing in angels when Sam’s nursery exploded into flames taking his mother.

“I said that was according to the lore. Believe what you want about the angels, but I’ve seen these women in action. They’re legit and damn good hunters. So if you trust anything, trust me on that.”

“If these people are so great then why does Dad hate Casey so much,” Sam’s voice was small, his breathing still a little shallow.

“Growing up, Becca and Mary were close friends. Your mother spent most summers with Becca and her family. When Mary…” Here again Bobby paused.  “After, Becca came to your father and offered to take you boys to raise. She could see the obsession he already had for vengeance and was worried about you. She felt that your lives might be in danger from the thing that killed your mother and believed you needed more protection than John could provide, especially with his singular focus on revenge. Your father was seeing evil everywhere and this old friend of Mary’s shows up saying she’s been touched by an angel and wants his sons…your Dad panicked, thought it was a trap. The next day, the three of you had disappeared from Lawrence. She never confronted your Dad again, but did keep an eye on you from a distance. 

Becca was the reason your Dad and I met. She contacted me not long after and pointed me in your direction saying he was going to need my help. Over the years, you’ve crossed paths with Casey, but your father always moved you before you actually met her.”

“Bobby? Casey said she wasn’t the enemy. Is that true?” Dean wanted badly to believe her, but the last hour had shaken him.

“There is nobody better at what she does, even in her own group. But, Dean, you’ve been trained your whole life as a hunter, what do your instincts tell you?”

“That’s a good question,” Dean turned to the darkening window.

“Then I suggest you think really hard about the answer.” Bobby stood with a pat to Dean’s leg and a squeeze to Sam’s ankle, leaving the brothers to digest everything.

“Bobby?” He turned to the younger man lying pale on the bed.

“Yeah Sam?”

“You talk about Casey’s mother like she’s gone. How did Becca die?” 

“Killed by a witch that was draining the life outta some kids somewhere in Wisconsin back in eighty-eight.” With that, he walked out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean swallowed. **Killed by a witch that was draining the life outta some kids somewhere in Wisconsin back in eighty-eight**.  Unbidden, images flashed through his mind: newspaper articles spread across a faux wood tabletop touting headlines about mysterious illnesses and sick children wasting away; five year old Sammy, curly haired, round face illuminated by the bluish light of _Thundercats_ on a crappy television; a picture of a blackened handprint with long fingers and claws, stark against a white windowsill; Dad locked and loaded leaving with a perfunctory ‘take care of Sammy’ called over his shoulder; an innocently sleeping Sammy lying cross ways on the bed, a cloaked figure holding his soft cheeks in its skeletal hands sucking the energy from him. 

“Dean? You okay?” Fingers slightly warmer than the last time he’d felt them, but still too cool touched his forearm startling him slightly.

Forcing a smile on his face, “Yeah, Sammy. ‘M fine.”

 “Crazy day.” Dean knew that Sam was fishing for a way to start talking about everything they’d learned that day, but where the hell do you start? Should they begin with their Dad and his obvious disregard for their safety? Or how about the girls with freaky angelically bestowed powers and supposed biblical hunting ancestry? Then they could wrap it up with where the fuck they go from here? Great choices…like whether you’d rather be shot or hung.

“What do you think Casey meant when she told Bobby that something was circling?” Sam had found the loose thread on the blanket again and began wrapping it around his finger, turning the tip purple before unwinding it and allowing the trapped blood to flow free. 

“I dunno. I don’t think it pertains to us or she would have told us not Bobby. If it’s something he needs our help with, I’m sure he’ll tell us,” Dean watched the alternating purpling and paling of Sam’s index finger.

“Who do we trust now?” Dean’s heart clenched painfully. Sam sounded so lost, so young, so…broken. In a life where you grew up fast or didn’t grow up at all, it was too easy to forget that Sam was only 17, not even a man by society’s standards. He could still feel the weight of Sam’s other hand on his arm and he placed his over it, squeezing it reassuredly.

 

“Each other,” he answered simply. Placing his brother’s hand back on the bed and untangling the string wrapped finger of Sam’s other hand, he pulled the covers over both in an attempt to warm them. “Look. You’re exhausted. Try to get some rest and we’ll figure this mess out later.”

Sam’s mouth opened to probably protest but the words were preempted by a jaw cracking yawn.  Resignedly, he rolled his eyes at Dean’s knowing look. “You sure we’re safe here?”

“As safe as anywhere,” Dean mumbled, watching Sam’s lids get heavier until they closed and didn’t open again.

 

*****

 

Dean passed the next hour with his hand clasped alternatingly between Sam’s and his own head. His mind turned over different plans of action each revolving around a central idea, get Sam out and keep him safe. Unfortunately, in the short term, he was going to need help regardless of which way they went so all of the plans hinged on the decision of who to trust. Twenty minutes into that line of thought had him fidgeting so bad, he stood up to pace off some of the excess nervous energy. 

Back and forth, door to window. Back and forth, Dad or Casey. Back and forth, pros and cons. 

Pausing to stare out the window at the twilit evening, he heard Sam stir when a cart, being wheeled down the hall, rattled and clanged. Sam snuffled and shifted his legs, but mercifully didn’t erupt into one of the coughing fits that continuously plagued his sleep. Dean crossed to his side, hand smoothing back the newly cleaned locks, and stared unfocused at the daffodil picture on the wall opposite. His hand carded through the stands, catching in tangles on every few swipes, as all thoughts blanked from his soothed mind. 

A vibration pulled him from his numbed state of consciousness and he dug in his pocket for his cell phone.  Feeling it shake twice more before he fully freed it from his jeans, he looked to see he had three new text messages. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, anyway.

 **BOBBY:** caleb lost your dad. 

**BOBBY:** think heading your way. coming for S.

 **BOBBY:** decide now.  all leave with J or you get S away.

Dean read and reread the messages. Sam coughed, muttered in his sleep, and turned onto his right side. As his weight settled against his broken ribs, he whimpered and rolled on his back. Watching Sam calm, Dean hesitated for a moment considering his options before making a choice. He bent over the rail and pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple. _God, Sammy. For your sake, I hope I’m doing the right thing._ Dean lifted his cell phone and sent a two word message.

 **DEAN:**   how long?

 

*****

 

His boots squeaked against the floor as he rushed to the Nurse’s Station. Susie gave him a blinding smile when he came to a halt at the chest high counter.

“Where’s Casey?”

The redhead’s smile fell and her face stiffened, “I dunno. I’m Sam’s nurse now, so if you need something I can get it for you.”

“I _need_ Casey. Do you know where she is?” A mantra of _no time, no time, no time_ , ran through his mind.

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Look! I have enough attitude of my own, I don’t need yours. Now, I really need Casey. Can you help me find her or not?” His voice was raised, but he could care less. 

“Dean?” Zoe’s alarmed voice had him spinning on his heel.

“Zoe, where’s Casey? I need her.” Seeing her unimpressed expression, he amended, “Sam needs her.”

She considered him for a minute and Dean resisted the urge to shake her and make her hurry. “I made her lie down in the lounge. She’s barely slept since Sam was admitted.”

Dean pecked the girl on the cheek as he darted by her to the lounge door. Casey was curled up on the bottom bunk, dark hair splayed across the pillow in a halo, sleeping peacefully. Crouching next to her head, Dean reached over to wake her when a hand zipped out, grabbing his neck in a crushing grip. Eyes slitted open, surprise crossed Casey face. She released her hold and sat up.

Clearing his tender throat, Dean croaked, “We need your help. I have to get Sam somewhere safe.”

Without hesitation, she swung her legs off the mattress and pushed to a standing position. “Go back to Sam. I have to get a few things together. Be ready to leave in 10 minutes.” 

 

*****

 

Nine minutes later, Casey walked into Sam’s room followed closely by Zoe. Both girls had traded their hospital scrubs for black fatigues, tank tops and steel toed boots.  Dropping matching duffels on Sam’s bed, they shrugged on the jackets that had been draped over their arms. 

“Do you have a gun,” Zoe asked Dean, unzipping her bag. Nodding her understanding at his head shake, she reached in to retrieve a silver Taurus .38 and tossed it in his direction.  Dean popped the clip, checked it over and clicked it back into place. Pulling the slide back, he chambered the first round and tucked the gun in the back of his pants.

“John’ll expect Dean to leave with Sam in the Impala, so I think a diversion will be our best bet of getting him out of here without a showdown,” Zoe zipped up her bag, nudging Casey around to check that her weapon was holstered at the small of her back. Dean was taken aback at Zoe’s take charge attitude. He’d barely heard her utter two words since he met her. 

“Since Sam is in no condition to fight, my suggestion is we split up, one of us paired with a brother.  Casey go with Dean, I’ll take Sam with me. We’ll meet up at the house.” Zoe picked up her bag and raised an expectant eyebrow at Sam. 

“Wait, no! Sam and I stay together,” Dean protested on principle. He could see the merit of separating them, but it felt like Zoe had suggested he remove his arm…or his heart.

“Sorry, Dean. Not this time.” Zoe voice was soft but firm, broking no argument.

Casey’s eyes flittered between Dean and Sam, watching them. Turning to Zoe, she pulled the girl to the side asking for her help in determining the best route to take. They huddled near the window as they debated the pros and cons of different streets. Sam was standing near the end of the bed, doing his best to look solid on his feet even as his swaying betrayed him. Dean could see the uncertainty in his stance and knew that Sam was upset at the idea of them splitting up as well. He walked over to stand in front of his little brother, hand going up to cup the back of Sam’s neck. 

“Everything’s going to fine, Sam. It’s just for a little while, until we’re clear of the hospital. Gotta throw Dad off.” Dean pressed their foreheads together for a moment and then leaned up to press a kiss between his brows. Relaxing back down, he found himself level with Sam’s mouth. Unable to resist, he pressed forward, lips connecting in a chaste kiss. Mind catching up to his actions, Dean pulled back and came face to face with Sam’s shocked features. Opening his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, Sam was yanked from his hands. 

“Come on, Sam. We have to go now!” Zoe spared a last glance to Casey, Sam’s arm clutched in one hand, her duffel in the other, before escorting the younger Winchester out the door.

Casey came up behind Dean and gently clasped his arm, leading him from the room and heading in the direction opposite the other pair. Leaving the room, Dean’s mind couldn’t concentrate on where he was being guided; it was stuck on _I kissed Sammy!_ He felt he made progress when they reached the elevator and had moved to _ohshitohshitohshitohshit_ , but felt he lost some ground when the real panic set in on the first floor as he settled on _ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck._

 The waning moon illuminated the parking lot enough for them to navigate their way to the black work of Detroit art waiting patiently for them. Casey pushed him in the direction of the driver’s side door as she rounded the bumper to the other side, but when he stumbled to a stop in front of the grill, she moved to him quickly.

“Either snap out of it or I’m going to drive.”

Her words seeped in and he pulled the keys from his pocket then slid behind the wheel. They sped through the sleepy one horse town, Dean steering according to Casey’s terse directions. Following her last instruction, ‘turn left, pull past the gate and stop’, he braked on a gravel road just past a three rail horse fence.

“Get out and help me with the gate,” Casey commanded, door already flung open.

Dean jumped out and helped her shove the gate. His hands ran over carvings in the wood as they moved it into position and he looked down to see protective sigils. The entry slammed shut with an audible clank of the metal handle.

“Dean Winchester.” His name broke the quiet of the night, interrupting the symphony of crickets hiding in the surrounding tall grass. He peered over the top of the fence to see two people, a man and a woman, standing twenty feet back on the other side. 

“Who are you?” His tone was stronger than he actually felt, his hand reaching back to touch the cool metal of the gun hidden there. He heard Casey’s soft curse from beside him and shot her a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye.

“I thought they were farther away,” she mumbled as explanation, her own hand wrapped around grip of her concealed weapon. Dean mirrored her actions when she pulled it free.

“We’re here for little Sammy, Dean. Our boss wants to talk to him.” The man’s eyes inked over as he stepped closer. The etchings in the wood glowed bright blue as he neared and the man hissed like he’d been burned. “Smart girl,” he snarled, “But guess what…sigils don’t protect against bullets.”

Casey and Dean raised their guns and took aim as their counterparts did the same. Nothing to fear from the hunter’s weapons, both demons opened fire. Forced to separate and seek cover, they squatted behind the posts on either side of the gate. Casey and Dean locked gazes and then simultaneously looked to the Impala parked over 10 feet away, too far away and too out in the open to provide safety. When a round caused wood to splinter close to Dean’s head, he turned and fired off a few shots at the man, the closer of the two opponents. Over the cacophony of gun fire, Dean could hear Latin drifting on the air. Fifty words later, the noise stopped as black smoke funneled up and circled above them before disappearing. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean could see the two bodies lying in the gravel of the turn off.

Standing slowly and brushing off the dust from his jeans, he grinned at Casey. “Nice work with the exorcism. Man, what the fuck? Demons with guns?” As the words left his mouth, he saw movement from the woman’s body. His brain screamed danger in the same heartbeat he heard the retort of the gun. Dean felt his body slam back into the ground, pain lancing from several points, and heard Latin being scream from close by. Warm fingers pressed into his cheek, his name and curses repeated on a loop, as the smell of blood and the darkness consumed him. 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean felt the familiar vibrations and sounds of the Impala and for one wild moment thought he was a child again, asleep in the back curled around Sam while his father drove them to the next hunting destination.  The moment passed when he heard a soft curse and reality came crashing back. Blinking his eyes open, he took a quick survey of his body. He remembered the sound of the gunshot, but other than a dull ache in his head, nothing hurt. Shaking his head to clear it, _oh god not smart_ , he looked to the driver’s side to see Casey hunched awkwardly over the steering wheel.

“What happened,” he groaned, hand coming up to rub the source of the ache on the back of his skull. His fingers glided over a large lump and he groaned again.

“Bitch was playing opossum. Must have been too far away when I did the exorcism and decided to play along until our guard was down. I got her the second time though.”

“I heard a gunshot.”

“She missed you,” Casey said simply. Noticing him tenderly touching his head and wincing in pain, a guilty look passed over her face. “Sorry, I think you bumped your head when I pushed you down.” 

Dean watched her maneuver the car to a stop in front of a small white house, windows illuminated from the inside, parking next to a black Jeep Wrangler. Casey turned off the engine and extracted the keys, pressing them into Dean’s hand before getting out. Holding on to the door and door jamb for support, he stood and remained still until he felt steady on his feet.  Moving slowly around to the front of the car, he looked back to see Casey leaning against the driver’s side door, eyes trained on the stars overhead and breaths fogging the air in quick bursts. Walking closer, he noticed the small lines of pain creasing her face.

“Hey! What’s wrong? You okay?” Dean watched her swallow hard and could hear her panting softly.

“Fine,” she smiled, shoving away from the car. Overbalancing, she stumbled forward and Dean’s arms came up automatically to catch her, hand encountering something wet and sticky on her back. Pulling it away, he could see the red viscous liquid covering his palm and fingers. 

“Casey, you’re bleeding.” He pulled her into his chest, her torso leaning against him, so he could get a better look at her back. Glistening in the moonlight, a dark, wet stain started near her shoulder blade and extended down to her waist. _Shit._ The bullet missed him alright…it hit her. Pushing her back gently, he ran his hand over the front of her body looking for an exit wound. Not finding one, he reached around her back again to put pressure on the bleeding wound. 

Grunting, Casey’s knees gave out as she tried to writhe away from the pain Dean was causing. Dean deftly scooped her up and headed to the back door of the house. Kicking it hard with the toe of his boot, he waited a few heartbeats, and receiving no answer, kicked it again. A shadow appeared on the other side of the curtained half window and he saw the fabric pulled back on the side by the muzzle of a gun. The curtain was released and hadn’t finished swinging when the door was wrenched open.

“What the fuck?” Zoe moved back so Dean could enter a small kitchen. He spared the house a cursory glance on his way to deposit Casey on the sofa he could see in living room. As soon as his burden was lifted, Dean was spun around to face a seething Zoe. She grasped his shoulders tightly and shoved him hard into the wall, plaster cracking around the point of his body’s impact. 

“I said, What. The. Fuck. I let you leave with the most precious thing in my life and you bring her back damaged?  You idiot,” she screamed, slamming him against the wall again.

 

*****

 

Sam lay back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, fingers nervously tapping against his thighs. He and Zoe had arrived at the house, their house, a few minutes prior and he’d been directed (ordered) to the right hand bedroom to lie down. Really, if he wasn’t so worried about Dean, he’d have no major complaints. The room, Casey’s from the looks of it, was small, but clean. The bed was soft and the sheets smelt of laundry soap and a mixture of floral scents, from Sam’s guess, a combination of her shampoo and perfume. 

He’d spent the entire drive from the hospital having an internal freak-out. Dean had kissed him, not just a brotherly peck on the forehead, but full on lip-to-lip smackage. Sam wasn’t sure what was actually causing the freak-out more, the kiss or the fact that he really, really liked it. By the time they pulled up in front of the small house, he’d completely convinced himself that it was an accident. Too much emotion and stress. Like people who get carried away when their team wins the championship and they turn to the nearest person and plant one on them. Yeah, just an adrenaline reaction to the day’s events. 

His muscles finally began to relax when he heard the familiar sound of the Impala’s engine coming up the driveway. He listened and could perfectly create the images that accompanied the noises. Two doors opening and closing as Dean and Casey got out of the car, gravel crunching under boots as they walked to the house and the creaky rattle of the door as they moved inside. Sam didn’t bother getting up, knowing that Dean would seek him out to reassure himself that Sam was whole and safe. He startled when raised voices drifted through the thick wooden door separating the bedroom from the rest of the house. 

Stepping out of the room, he saw Zoe had Dean pinned to the wall of the living room.  She was shaking, rage rippling out from her. Dean for his part looked confused and a little dazed.  He heard Dean recite the events, voice wavering when he explained how Casey had taken the bullet. Sam could see the guilt weighing down his brother’s features. Dean was the one used to jumping in front of danger, not being shielded from it. 

Sam looked around the small room, but didn’t see the younger girl anywhere. The possibility occurred to him that Casey was dead and cold nausea seized him until he heard a soft moan coming from the bathroom next to him. Knocking softly didn’t get a response so he pushed the door open to find Casey slumped against the vanity, door to the linen closet open and a large duffel bag pulled halfway out.  She slid to the left as she tugged on the bag, leaving a swath of blood on the cream cabinet door in her wake. Breathless from the exertion, she clamped her eyes shut tight against the pain. 

“Let me help you,” Sam said quietly, moving into the bathroom and kneeling next to her on the floor.

“Sam,” she panted, “you should be resting. Why don’t you go lie down and relax? I have your medicine in my bag. I’ll bring it in in a few minutes.”

“You’re bleeding, shot from what I gathered.” He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in the direction of the raised voices, Zoe’s curiosity of Dean’s reaction if the situation was reversed and Dean’s lame denial that it would have been as harsh, filtering through the bathroom door. “You may be Supergirl or something but I’m pretty sure you can’t patch up your own back.”  

Casey studied him and Sam did his best to let his determination and resolve shine through his features. Dean always said Sam’s face was an open book, he might as well use it to his advantage. Rolling her eyes, Casey grabbed hold of the toilet seat, hissing at the movement, and tried to pull herself more upright. Grabbing a towel from the open closet, he spread it over the lip of the tub and helped her to lean against the porcelain surface for support. 

 “There’s a pair of trauma shears in the side pouch of that duffel bag. Just cut away the jacket and shirt, they’re both a lost cause anyway. You’ll find everything you need to dig out the slug and stitch me up inside the main section.” Casey fidgeted in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. 

Using the scissors he made short work of the jacket, cutting it up the middle and down the sleeves, before snipping through the strap on her tank top. Using a pair of forceps, he dove into the bleeding hole, seeking out the bullet. Pushing past layers of muscle, Sam felt the tip of the tool nudge the bullet, but as he clamped around the slug his grip faltered causing the instrument to knock into the bone the slug had lodged against.

“Fuuuuck me,” Casey growled out. She’d been so still he’d half hoped she had passed out. He mumbled an apology and went to grab the piece of metal again.

He could hear Zoe’s panicked voice when she apparently heard Casey’s distressed cry and realized that the girl wasn’t in the living room anymore. Banging on the wooden door startled him as he was pulling the bullet out causing him to inadvertently jolt forward and push against the muscular tunnel created by the bullet’s travel path.

“Goddammit,” Casey screamed, “The door isn’t locked, just turn the fucking knob.” Taking a deep breath, she turned her now green face to Sam. “Go on. You’ve almost got it out. I trust you.”

Sam took a deep breath of his own and turned his concentration back to his task, ignoring the two sets of eyes he felt watching him from behind. Finally freeing the round, he pressed another towel over the opening to staunch some of the bleeding his actions had once again started. 

“Zoe, do you want to finish? Stitch her up?” Sam could feel Zoe’s need to be involved as though it was a tangible element coming from the girl, like sweat.

“No.” Casey spoke up, her eyes locking with Sam’s. “You started it, you finish it.” Looking at the two bystanders behind him, she added, “If you two are through with your laying blame pissing contest, why don’t you get my duffel from the car so Sam can take his medicine and lay down when he’s done?”

Sam heard the heavy sounds of their footsteps, accompanied by miscellaneous grumblings, as they left the bathroom and made their way to the back door and the Impala outside. He was really going to have to ask Casey how she did that. 

They sat in silence while he pulled the needle and thread through the skin, closing the wound with neat, tight stitches. Casey rested her cheek against the cool side of the tub and closed her eyes. As he tied the end off, he whispered her name.

“Hmmmm,” she answered sleepily.

“Thank you. 

A sliver of dark brown regarded him. Peering over her shoulder at the newly mended wound, she smiled wanly. “I think I should thank you. Zoe’s always shit at suturing.”

“No, I meant…for saving Dean. Thank you.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek. “Really, thank you.”

“Someday,” Casey mumbled, blood loss causing her words to slur, “you’ll have what you want, Sam. Just give him a little more time.”

Sam flinched back. _Oh God, she knows._ He opened his mouth to deny it, but Dean and Zoe came back in at that moment. They gently helped Sam and Casey from the floor, handling them like the small children they still believed the younger two were, medicated them and placed them in bed, one in each bedroom. 

 

***** 

Once the immediate dangers had been taken care of, Dean and Zoe moved around each other for the rest of the night in not so much an easy manner, but a more civilized one. At least the older girl wasn’t slamming him into the walls anymore and Dean would take what he could get. Deciding to go to bed, he stood from the couch and stretched his muscles. Even after four acetaminophen, his head still hurt like a bitch, but since death was the alternative…well, count your blessing and all that. Zoe went to one of the duffels that had been brought in and discarded near the foot of the couch. She produced a pair of black scrubs, like the ones Casey had left for him that morning – _holy shit! Was that only this morning? –_ and handed them to him.

“The pants should be comfortable enough to sleep in. We’ll get you some new clothes tomorrow.” 

Dean nodded and took the soft clothes. Walking into the bedroom that he and Sam would be sharing, it was a conscious effort to move his exhaustion leaded feet with each step. He stripped quickly and tugged on the admittedly comfortable pants. Slipping under the covers next to his snoring brother, Dean laid on his back in case his sleep hungry brain decide to give him more fantasies of Sam sprawled next to him, wanton and willing. He tensed when Sam rolled into him and curled into his side, head resting on the meat of Dean’s shoulder and arm wrapping around his waist. Looking down at the slack face, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of his head and enclosed Sam in his arms.

 

*****

 

Eyes closed against the morning light, Sam languidly stretched his long frame, bowing his back like a cat, smiling at the realization that not once did he wake to a chest splitting cough during the night. As his cheek muscles pulled the corners of his lips up, he felt his skin slide against something smoother and warmer than the pillowcase. Freezing, he reached out with his other senses to hear the familiar thrum of a heartbeat and smell the comforting aroma of leather and hair gel. _Dean._

Sam lay there quietly, marveling at how natural it was to be in his brother’s arms. Slowly opening his eyes, he took in his brother’s unstressed features and his heart swelled at the sight.  Dean huffed a breath causing his lips to puff out and part and Sam had to hold himself back from kissing them. Watching his brother appraisingly, Sam thought back to Casey’s slurred words the night before… _you’ll get what you want_. Sliding up slowly, Sam licked his lips, _fortune favors the brave_ , and lurched forward pressing his lips to Dean’s strawberry colored ones. Ice shot down Sam’s spine followed immediately by boiling water to pool low in his stomach. Dean made a surprised noise and Sam pulled back to see hooded green eyes looking down at him in alarm. Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, Sam tracked the slow slide of Dean’s tongue over his lips.

“Sam?”

“Yeah.” 

Sam held his breath as Dean searched his face. Finding what he was seeking, Dean’s hand moved to Sam’s cheek, cupping it tenderly, and Sam surged forward. Their lips met again forcefully and Sam’s fingers fisted in the fabric of Dean’s pants just over his hip bone. Dean’s hand made a lazy trail from his neck to small of his back and pulled Sam flush to his body. Sam gasped into the kiss as tendrils of lust shot through his veins when the hard line of his brother’s erection pressed against his own. The hand on Dean’s hip opened and closed convulsively, catching skin and bone. He jerked Dean closer and rotated his hips forward, smirking when Dean inhaled sharply at the sensation and reached around to take Sam’s ass in his hands. 

“I want-,” Sam panted around the kiss, fingers snaking between them to work at the ties holding up Dean’s pants.

“Yeah, Sam. Yeah.” Dean’s hands smoothed upward over the firm muscles of Sam’s ass until his palms rested on the small of Sam’s back. Sliding them back down, Dean spread his fingers and pressed them slightly in to the hard planes of muscle in Sam’s back feeling the fabric of Sam’s pants trail over the tops of the knuckles. 

Frustrated, Sam yanked on the strings finally, _finally_ , feeling the bow give and pushed the cloth down over Dean’s hips, groaning as the hot, silky flesh of his brother’s cock brushed his arm in the process. Sucking on Dean’s bottom lip, Sam shoved his own pants and underwear down, pistoning his knees to remove them until both legs were free.  There was no way he was letting Dean change his mind. Straightening on the bed, he felt Dean kick off his clothing. Sam’s fingers trailed up the outside of Dean’s thigh, crossed over his hip and wrapped around his cock. Sliding his hand slowly up and down, testing the weight and feel as well as Dean’s response, Sam already knew that this wasn’t going to be enough. He wanted more, Dean’s hands on him, around him, in him.

“Anything you want, Sammy,” Dean gasped as Sam’s hand tightened around his flesh in surprise. _Shit, he’d said that out loud._ Sam’s hand fell away when Dean rolled them, pressing him into the mattress. “Have you done this before?” 

A blush stained Sam’s cheeks and he turned his head to the side giving Dean all the answer he needed. “Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll take care of you.”

Casting his hand out over the nightstand and then into the top drawer, Dean grinned wolfishly. A small bottle landed next to Sam’s shoulder and he had a moment to wonder why the hell Casey had lube in her bedroom, but quickly lost the train of thought when Dean latched on to his collarbone, nipping and sucking. 

_Oh, God. He moves two inches to the left and I’m gonna…OH GOD!_

“Dean,” Sam cried out as his brother’s teeth scraped over the pulse point in his neck. His balls tightened, drawing close to his body. 

_Not yet! Battle of Gettysburg…July 1 st through 3rd…turning point of the Civil War…51,000 dead…_

“Oh, fuck!” All thought left Sam’s brain, back bowing off the bed, as Dean ran the flat of his tongue over his nipple. Even through the static now buzzing in his brain, Sam heard Dean’s smug snickering. Calloused palms blazed a path over his ribs for his lips to follow with open mouthed kisses. Sam hissed in pain as Dean’s hand pressed on the edges of his bruised side and Dean stilled, looking up at Sam’s face in concern. Cupping his hands around the back of Dean’s skull, Sam gently urged him on unwilling to stop for anything short of death.

Dean’s hands and mouth made a teasingly slow path down as Sam mentally reviewed the Confederate battle plans for Pickett’s Charge to keep from losing control too soon. His torso completely lifted from the mattress when warm breaths ghosted down the side of his swollen cock followed by Dean’s nose nuzzling the base. Flopping back on the bed, he felt Dean’s tongue run up his length and swirl around the head. Lapping the bead of precome oozing from the slit, Dean parted his lips and took Sam deep into his mouth.  Sam’s hips snapped up of their own volition and he bit on his knuckles to keep from shouting.

_Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus._

Dean’s left arm came up to hold Sam’s gyrating pelvis down and he began a messy up and down rhythm, pulling grunts and stifled moans from his younger brother.

“Like that, baby boy?” Dean lifted his head to smirk. He started licking up Sam’s length, alternating between long, broad sweeps and small, kittenish ones. Cool, wet fingers skirted over Sam’s balls – _when the hell did he lube up? –_ and moved further back. The sensation of Dean’s finger circling a place Sam thought no person would ever touch was startling and his whole body tensed.

“Relax, Sam. Trust me.” Dean applied a gentle pressure against Sam’s hole with the pad of his finger and waited until the muscle relaxed under it. Gently he pushed the tip in to the first knuckle, moving it in and out in tiny increments to get Sam used to the feeling. Dean repeated the process over and over until not only was the first finger seated to the third knuckle but two more had joined it. He kept the pace maddeningly slow and each time he felt Sam tense around the intrusion, he would still his movements and go back to lavishing attention to Sam’s waning erection until the muscles relaxed and he once again stood full and hard. 

Sam was writhing, his body on overload from his brother’s attention, see-sawing back and forth from fingers to mouth. He had to move past the Battle of Gettysburg to reciting soliloquys from famous Shakespeare plays to keep from exploding. That was until Dean twisted his wrist and curled his fingers inside Sam and everything exploded in burst of white light behind his clenched eyelids.

When his mind was able to comprehend anything beyond, _oh fuck so good so good_ , he realized that Dean’s fingers were gone. Panicking he opened his eyes to see his brother kneeling between his legs running a slick hand over his own erection. Using his clean hand he pushed Sam’s leg over, rolling him onto his side. Dean spooned up behind him, lifting Sam’s leg up and back to drape it over his thigh.

“Take a deep breath,” Dean whispered into his ear and Sam felt the blunt head against his opening. As he exhaled, Dean pushed forward.

 

*****

 

Dean opened his eyes at Sam’s whimpering. Looking down he could see his little brother snug up next to him: head pillowed on his shoulder, arm wrapped around his waist and leg threaded through his.  Arm tightening around Sam’s shoulders, preparing to wake him from whatever dream he was having, he noticed that Sam’s hips were undulating against his leg.

 _Oh. Oh shit!_ Sam was having a good dream.

Deciding it was best to leave Sam to it alone, Dean tried to wiggle out from underneath him. As he moved, Sam’s arm and leg clamped down and the movement of his hips became faster and more erratic. Dean could feel parts of him get a little too interested and rapidly fill out to full thickness.

_Stupid traitorous dick. This is bad. This is very, very bad._

Sam’s whimpers turned into throaty moans and Dean reached down to grab the base of his dick, but it was too late. One guttural groan later, Sam’s whole body shook and Dean felt the wetness spread through Sam’s clothing and his own. That was all it took and Dean followed, erupting hard and leaving him panting. Feeling Sam shifting, starting to wake, Dean jerked out from underneath him and all but ran to the bathroom across the hall, absently seeing Casey and Zoe in the living room sipping coffee with matching confused looks.


	13. Chapter 13

 

Waking up in reality really sucked compared to the way Sam’d woken up in his dream. Without opening his eyes, he could tell he was alone just by the quiet. Even Dean, in all his ninja glory, was unable to hide his breathing from ears that had been attuned to it practically since birth. Sam kicked his leg, twisted in the sheet during his normal nightly tossing and turning, trying to untangle it. Somehow, mercifully, his right leg had been spared entrapment and with a little bit of shuffling and wiggling he was able to use it to aid in its partner’s bid for freedom. He turned over on his back, arm flinging up to cover his eyes, and groaned at the bright morning light filtering through the sheer curtains covering the windows. Yawning and stretching, he rolled to his stomach thinking seriously about going back to sleep for a while. Hips laying flush with the mattress, Sam startled at the cold wetness squishing across his pelvis. Groggy or not, how the hell did he miss that? 

_Huh, dream was better than he realized_. 

Of course it wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed about Dean and he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the last. Especially now that he knew exactly what Dean tasted like and what his lips felt like against his.

  _Definitely time to get up._

Hand pressing into the empty space next to him, sheets under his palm still warm from his brother’s body, Sam levered his torso off the mattress to get up and clean the mess he’d made.  Apparently, Dean hadn’t been up long. Pulling the waistband of his boxers away from his skin with a grimace of disgust, Sam’s eyes widened in panic.

_Oh crap! Please, please, please tell me Dean was already out of bed when I blew my wad and if he wasn’t, please, please, please, don’t let him comment on it._

Sam flopped back down on the mattress, face hidden behind his palms.

 

*****

 

Dean stood under the hot spray, running his hands through his hair to finish rinsing the last remnants of shampoo, flowery girl shampoo no less (Now with Jojoba! _What the hell was jojoba?),_ from his hair. He’d been in here longer than manners dictated for a house of four people and one bathroom, but it had taken ten minutes of cool water raining down to calm any lingering arousal then an additional ten of hot water  to ease the tension in his body and all before he picked up the bar of soap. Turning around to let the water hit against his face, he leaned down and pushed the single lever in to stop the water flow. 

Drying off with the plushest towel he could remember using in…ever, he pulled the curtain back already regretting the idea of putting back on his dirtied boxers. He stepped out on the tan bathmat, dotted sporadically with circles of dried blood, and saw a faded green duffel bag on the bathroom counter with a note on top.

 

Dean,

Something to tide you over until we can get you new clothes.

Casey

 Unzipping the bag, he pulled to contents out:  boxer-briefs, socks, several pairs each of gray and black sweatpants, white cotton long sleeve tees. He could kiss Casey!

Tugging on some clothes, he emerged from the bathroom in a billow of steam. He crossed to the closed door of his and Sam’s room, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob and pushing it open. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together and dangling between his spread legs, head hanging low. As the door clicked shut, Sam raised his head and gave Dean a sleepy smile.

“Heya, Sammy. Shower’s free.” Dean dropped his newly acquired duffel by the door, watching his brother’s features carefully for any sign that things were going to be awkward. Dean was certain that Sam was still mostly asleep when he left, _fled_ _okay fled_ , the room earlier, but it was possible that Sam was more awake than he appeared and knew what Dean had done. 

_Came in your pants like a thirteen year old kid._ **Technically, so did Sam** _**.** Yes, but Sam came from having an, apparently, really hot dream not from hearing his brother make happy noises. _ **Touché.**

“Thanks. Did you leave any hot water, jerk?”

“Maybe.” Dean grinned, confidence growing that Sam didn’t know and they were going to be okay. Sam would have already interjected his patented ‘can we talk about it’ line into the conversation, accompanied by killer puppy dog eyes, if he’d had any inkling of what happened this morning. There was still the issue of the kiss last night, but it seemed that Sam had either blocked it out or used his big brain to rationalize and logically explain it away as a fluke. _Thank god._ “Early bird, bitch.”

“Whatever,” Sam mumbled. The painful grip of fear around his stomach lessened at the normality of their morning banter. Sam had given Dean the perfect set-up and knew that if Dean had still been in bed when Sam had…he would have made a joke already about Sam, the shower and round two. 

Standing up and moving to the bag that Casey had come to the door with a few minutes ago, Sam picked it up and set it on the bed. He dug through and pointedly pulled out a pair of sweatpants a different color than the ones Dean had on. They weren’t a seventy year old retired couple in Ft. Lauderdale so matching outfits were definitely not an option. 

“I’m gonna’ get some coffee and see what they have for breakfast.” Dean kicked his bag a little further out of the way, trying to keep his mind from noticing the way Sam very nicely filled out the scrubs top he was wearing. “We, uh, we should probably sit down and figure out what our next move is going to be.”

“Okay. I’ll be out after I’ve had a shower.” 

 

*****

 

Dean listened to the sound of the bathroom door shutting before he made any movement to leave the bedroom. He paused in the short hallway when he could hear Casey and Zoe’s voices in the living room. 

“Demons with guns? What the hell?”

“I know,” Casey sighed. “Surprised the hell outta me. Dean too, I think. They’re getting resourceful.” After a short pause, she added, “You know, you should apologize to him. You were out of line last night.”

“He let you get shot.” Zoe’s voice rose, a pale version of how she sounded the night before raging at Dean.

“He didn’t _let_ me get shot. It’s no different than any other mission, shit happens. You and I both know how easy it is for things to go pear shaped.  And thanks again for forgetting about me bleeding on the couch.”

“I’m sorry.” Zoe sounded in anguish.

“Could’ve ruined the upholstery. That couch is new.” 

“I said I was sorry,” Zoe snapped.

“Oh and by the way, you’re repairing the damage to that wall.”

Zoe made a noise that sounded a lot like a snort. “Should make Dean do it. His ass cracked it,” she muttered before continuing at a louder volume. “A-ny-way, back to the demons. Were the two last night part of the group circling?”

“No. I don’t know. I..I can’t get a read on what’s coming. Just that it is and it’s getting closer. That and Winchester knows more than he telling anyone.”

Dean’s head snapped up at that admission and he crept forward to peer around the corner. Something about Casey’s voice sounded off and he wanted to see her face, see the emotions that went with that inflection. She was curled up in the chair next to the couch, feet tucked up under body and hands wrapped around a mug balanced on her thigh. She was staring blankly at the far wall in what appeared to be deep thought, an expression that seemed oddly familiar. Zoe was on the couch, mostly hidden from Dean’s sight by the hall wall, only her socked feet visible on the arm of the couch closest to Casey.

“How do you know that?” Zoe’s feet swung down and disappeared from Dean’s view as the girl sat up, shock evident in her tone.

_Good question, Zoe._

Casey’s eyes, still trained unseeingly at the wall across from her, narrowed and the index finger of her right hand traced patterns on the white mug cradled in her hands.  “Just a reaction he had yesterday to something I said. He’s lying, not flat out, but through omission.”

“You sure?” Zoe asked, whispering. The younger girl quirked her eyebrow and he heard Zoe’s soft ‘huh’ before both girls fell into silence.

Casey’s eyes came back into focus and Dean realized where he’d seen her make that expression before, yesterday looking at his Dad. She blinked a few times and her gaze lifted enough to see him partially concealed in the hallway.

“Good morning, Dean.” Her face transformed from pensive and thoughtful to happy and bright in a fraction of a second making Dean wonder how many times she had to practice before she mastered that maneuver. 

“Morning,” he said to the room at large as he entered, receiving a tight smile from the dark haired girl on the couch.

“Hungry? It’s almost lunchtime. I can whip something up real quick.” Casey rose, setting her mug down on the end table snugged between the chair and the couch.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not a problem. Coffee while you wait?”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t happen to have any of that stuff you brought me in the hospital, would you?”

Casey laughed, eyes shining mischievously. “Where do you think the hospital got it?” 

Dean settled into the chair recently vacated by the younger girl, thanking her when she brought him a steaming mug of caffeine heaven. Closing his eyes at the first sip, he opened them to see Zoe regarding him carefully.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said, making a face that looked like she had taken a particularly large gulp of something particularly nasty.

Dean thought for a moment about making her squirm, knowing that Casey had forced her to make the apology, but from the corner of his eye he saw Casey watching them expectantly. “Thanks.”

“How’s the head this morning?”  Casey’s question was heard above the clatter of metal on metal. Looking over to answer, Dean saw her pull a large skillet out from a lower cabinet and set it on the stove. The kitchen and living room were open to one another, the only defining line marking the end of one and beginning of the other was the flooring, where the tile of the kitchen met the hardwood of the living room.

“Better. “

“Good. Have you given much thought about what you’re going to do now?” Casey’s head was now in the refrigerator, leaving only her lower portion visible from Dean’s seat.

Zoe chuckled softly from the couch. “Casey believes in getting to the heart of the matter quickly.”

“I see. Honestly, I don’t know what Sam and I will do now.  What happened with Dad last night? I didn’t have a chance to ask with the blood loss and snarling.” Dean saw as a blush crept across Zoe’s face and Casey unconsciously scratched at her shoulder at the reminder of the previous night.

“Trotter came by this morning to drop of those clothes for you and Sam. He said John was caught sneaking into the hospital last night about five minutes after we left and was escorted off the property. Bobby e-mailed me this morning and said that John is bent on figuring out where you boys are and planning on sticking around for a few days. So, I guess, the first thing you two need to decide is whether you are leaving on your own or with him?” Casey was standing at the counter, attention on buttering the bread in front of her.

“We’re not leaving with him,” Dean said firmly, shocking everyone, including himself, with the decisiveness of his tone. 

“Okay. First things first, then. Sam won’t be well enough to travel for probably another week and he won’t be any use at hunting for at least a month.” Zoe paused and moved to the edge of the sofa. Her eyes flickered hesitantly to Casey, now standing at the stove. Casey nodded her head, gaze never lifting from the pan in front of her. Emboldened, Zoe continued, “If I can offer a suggestion, why don’t you stay here until he’s recovered?” 

“Here?” Dean had gotten the impression the night before that Zoe would really like for Dean to fall off the face of the Earth and now she was offering up her home?

“Dean.” He looked over to Casey, poking the bread in the skillet with a spatula. “There is only one other place in this country as protected as this property and that’s Singer Salvage in South Dakota. The perimeter is surrounded by iron, salt and sigils and no one, except the four of us and Trotter, knows where it is. You and Sam would be safe here until he’s back on his feet, from demons and ...” She trailed off at the end but Dean was always good at fill in the blanks. 

_From Dad._

“I think we should stay.”

Dean turned to see his brother in the hallway, apparently the prime eavesdropping location for Winchesters, leaning against the wall. Sam was pale and drawn, everything about him screamed of exhaustion. Dean knew that Sam needed time to recover, but Dad was so close. He could try and take Sam away and Dean couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let that happen.

Sam made an odd chuffing noise and brought his arm up to cover his mouth with his elbow as he coughed. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Dean, please. You heard her. We’re as safe here as we are at Bobby’s. If we leave, we’ll have no plan and be out in the open and vulnerable. If we stick around for a while, we could decide what to do and have an idea where to go. Dad knows you, he’ll expect you to try and leave with me right away. He’d never think you’d stay.” 

“All right,” Dean sighed. Like the debate wasn’t over the minute Sam said please. He watched the tense line of Sam’s shoulders relaxed and a relieved smile passed his lips. “We’ll stay. At least until you’re able to travel.”

Zoe moved over on the couch to allow room for Sam and Casey set a mug of coffee, with cream and sugar from the color of it, in front of him. Dean nodded knowingly at Sam’s dimpled smile after his first sip. It was worth staying around just for the coffee.

Casey set four plates down on the drop down bar, table high and jutting perpendicularly away from the counter. The group took their seats and the Winchesters began the first domesticated period of their entire lives.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean passed the first day with relative ease. There were enough matters that needed to be taken care of and arrangements to be made that his mind was too occupied to get bored. After lunch, a catalog landed in his lap followed by instructions from Zoe to pick out the things he and Sam wanted and to be sure to indicate the size. Next came the lists: list of things they wanted, list of things they needed, list of Sam’s classes at school, list of weapons they’d lost, list of entertainment items. The greater portion of an hour later, several sheets of paper lay on the table filled with Dean’s messy scrawl and Sam’s tiny print. Zoe picked up the loose leaf pages and glanced over the itemizations, asking for clarification on some requests, before she nodded and walked out. The rumble of the Jeep’s engine as it started up shook the glass panes in the window over the kitchen sink.

Casey gave them the tour of the grounds surrounding the house. Behind the house, stood a large barn that served as a garage. Side by side sat at 1969 Pontiac Judge and a brand new Chevy Corvette with an empty space presumably for the missing Wrangler. Whistling, Dean ran the tips of his fingers over the classic car, admiring the lines and curves.

“When we’re done looking around, go ahead and move the Impala in here. The Jeep will be fine outside.”

“Thanks,” he acknowledged absently, still caressing the waxed metal, “Nice car.”

“It was my Dad’s.” Casey’s lips turned up in a fond smile as she looked at the vehicle.

Opening a door to the left of the parked cars, Casey led Dean and Sam into a small padded room. The wall on the far end was covered with different hand to hand weapons ranging from innocuous looking bo staffs to lethal long swords and flanked by two well used punching bags. A training room.

“You’re welcome to use it anytime. Just be careful, the weapons are well maintained and sharp. Anything you want to practice with that we don’t have, let me know and I’ll get it.”

Casey cut the tour short when Sam’s coughing started coming faster and harder. They moved back inside for Sam to lie down while Dean relaxed in front of the television and Casey picked up a battered book. Zoe returned laden with bags sporting logos from different retailers, having to make three trips to the Jeep before it was unloaded. Dean and Casey unpacked everything separating things in two piles, one for Dean and one for Sam. Clothes, all the ones indicated in the catalog some of the same items in different colors, necessities and requests were stacked on the available surfaces of the kitchen and living room. A new backpack filled with the text books and supplies that Sam would need for school was leant against the coffee table with Sam’s things. Two cases, one filled with handguns and the other with an assortment of knives, were set on the table next to Dean’s stacks.

Dean surveyed the landscape of new items. “I-I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you.”

Casey walked over and placed her comforting hand on his shoulder. “Dean, don’t worry. It’s taken care of. We called in some favors.”

Zoe snorted, but quickly tried to cover it with a cough. Dean gave both girls a skeptical once over. “We don’t accept charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Casey insisted. Seeing Dean’s expression, she sighed. “If it will make you feel better, the cars need a good once over. Zoe and I aren’t exactly mechanically minded and they could use a professional touch. Save me a bundle of mechanic’s bills.” Dean nodded, picking up a pile of jeans to put away.

 

*****

 

Casey and Zoe’s ‘favors’ included convincing Sam’s school that his illness required him to complete his education from home.  Each day while his big brother tinkered under hoods and chassis, Sam alternated between the bed and the kitchen table writing reports and finishing assignments. The girls moved around them, trying to maintain their normal routine but with deliberate modifications. Morning runs, usually taken together, became solo exercises to provide more protection of the boys. After several days of restlessness, Dean accompanied them to burn off excess energy. Training sessions included an extra member and more often than not an audience. 

Casey taught Sam to cook, the only way anyone would let him contribute until he was well, to the background noise of Zoe and Dean target shooting in the back yard, a suitably productive outlet for the competitive tension between the two. Every other day Trotter stopped by to check on Sam’s progress and bring additional groceries. As darkness fell, one of the girls would excuse herself and disappear, patrolling the perimeter of the property to check the wards and for any threats. 

Three days after they arrived, Bobby e-mailed that John had left town, following a lead that the boys were holed up in Florida. Rumors of two tall, green-eyed young men in a black car checking into a motel in Live Oak under the names of Eddie and Alex Van Halen, had him heading south. At the brother’s raised eyebrows, Zoe suddenly became very interested with the sitcom they were watching and Casey concentrated on folding dish towels like she would find the meaning of life in the terrycloth weave. Finally breaking under the heavy gazes, Casey muttered something about being ‘owed favors’, making Dean wonder exactly how many people were indebted to them.  

And so their days passed to the sound of Dean’s socket wrench and Sam’s pencil. Dean watched as Sam’s color returned and his baby brother thrived under the stability. Sam was comfortable, hell Sam was happy, the four of them striking a balance between a hunter’s life and a regular life, between training and relaxation. This is what Sam had wanted, balance, and, to Dean’s surprise, the longer they stayed, the less and less the normality made his skin itch. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one that needed a home.

 

*****

 

Casey leaned back against the kitchen counter, palms flat on the surface behind her. Lifting herself easily, she slid back to sit on the countertop next to the sink, chuckling at the intense look of concentration on Sam’s face as his gaze darted back and forth between the paper to his left and the baking dish to his right. Knowing Sam was tired of the limited role he had been regulated to until he was better, Casey announced over breakfast that Sam should tackle dinner on his own. That evening she wrote out a recipe, handing it and a spatula to him with a smirk, then stood back, out of the way but available if needed. 

He looked over to her uncertain. “Is that everything? Should it look like that?” 

“Yep. Just need to put it in the oven and set the timer. I told you casseroles were the equivalent of training wheels for the kitchen impaired.” Her smile was bright with a hint of reassurance around the edges.

Sam shot her a relieved look. Shutting the oven door and setting the timer, he leaned against the counter across from her. Sam considered the young woman, watching him with laughing eyes, before he picked up his half full bottle of root beer and stared out the window over Casey’s right shoulder.  She turned, curiosity peaked at what had caught his attention, and the sun streaming through the window reflected off something at Casey’s neck, drawing his eyes. Sam had noticed the medallion before, swinging loose from shirts when Casey bent over or jangling during sparring matches, ever present as the amulet around his brother’s neck. 

“May I?” Sam gestured with the neck of the bottle towards the necklace.

Casey’s brows drew together in confusion and her hand came up to touch the bare skin of her throat. Feeling the circular charm, realization dawned across her face and she smiled, nodding her head in permission. He stepped forward, hips hovering inches in front of Casey’s knees, and reached out to hold the piece of silver in his hand. Resting it in his palm, weight lighter than he imagined, Sam leaned in for a better look of the engraving on the surface. Folding his hand, he turned it over to see a different symbol on the back.

“Are those runes?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never seen anything like these. They look like a combination of several runes.” His mind took the unfamiliar, complex design and began to break it down into smaller, recognizable ones. He looked up at Casey’s impressed expression and she nodded. “I can see protection, love, strength and maybe loyalty?”

“Courage” Casey corrected. “Very good, Sam.” She lifted it from his palm and ran her fingers around the edge. “This one represents my surname.” She turned it over. “The one on the back was created when I was born, my symbol, unique to me. Like hunters, we burn our dead. This acts as a dog tag, identifying the fallen, something tangible to bring back for the family.” She smiled sadly, dropping the necklace with a fleshy thud.

Sam stared at the small charm then placed his hand over it. A reminder of your mortality hanging around your neck, the only reminder people will have of your life. Casey wrapped her hand around his and pressed it against her heart comfortingly before releasing it.

“Cheer up, Emo Boy. You just successfully completed your first solo meal.” She pushed playfully at his shoulder.

“Emo Boy,” Sam laughed. “That’s what Dean calls me.” _Dean_. Sam’s dreams had steadily progressed from good to fucking awesome, forcing him to sleep on his stomach to avoid any embarrassing situations. He spent the majority of his days sexually frustrated, walking around half-hard and trying to hide it. Most of the time he was successful. At least until Dean came in from the training room or from a run, sweat glistening and face flushed. Those were the times when Sam would suddenly decide he needed a shower. Yeah, because sitting around reading about Reconstruction was hard work. 

“Sam?” He looked up at the sound of his name and was surprised to see his hand resting on the side of her neck, not remembering lifting it. His eyes roved over her face. Sam had to admit, Casey was pretty. Dark eyes, open and warm, and long dark hair spilling down her back in lazy curls. Watching her expression turn inquisitive, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be enough. If Sam couldn’t have what he wanted, could he be happy with this? 

Raising both hands to cup her jaw, Sam drew her closer and pressed their lips together. As their lips opened, she placed her hands on his sides, legs parting when his hip bones pressed against her knees. Slotting himself between her thighs, he deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in her satiny hair. Her lips were soft and _god did she know how to use them_ , but something felt wrong.

  _Not plush. Not perfect. Not Dean._

Sam broke the kiss, panting as _Not Dean_ bounced around in his head. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed for fear of what he’d see. He felt her small hands cradle the back of his head and neck, moving his face to the crook of her neck and holding him there in an embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her skin. “I’m so-“ Guilt lodged in his throat, choking off any further apologies.

“It’s alright, Sam. I know. I _know_.” The implication in her voice made him pull back sharply, eyes searching hers for meaning. Her fingertips traced over his forehead and down his cheek, curving around his jaw.  His arms encircled her and he snuggled his face back into her neck. “It’s alright. You’ll get what you want, Sam. I promise. It’s okay. I’m here if you need me.”

Sam lifted his head again and kissed her softly.

 

*****

 

Dean was tired. It had rained not long before he and Zoe had decided to take their run and the residual damp now hung heavy in the air. Each breath felt like he was drowning and Zoe had stepped up the pace for the last mile making it less of a companionable jog and more of a race. Things may have settled into a quasi-friendship between them, but still Dean refused to let the bitch win! Putting on a last burst of speed, he reached the back door of the house first. Hand against the doorjamb, he bent over and pinched a stitch in his side, tossing a smirk over his shoulder when he heard Zoe come up behind him.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Didn’t…say …a…word,” he grinned, panting a breath between each word.

Rolling her eyes, Zoe opened the door and held it, making an ‘after you’ gesture with her arm. The smell of Sammy’s dinner cooking filled the house with a hearty aroma that had Dean’s mouth watering the moment he stepped in the door. 

“Nice run?” Sam asked, looking up from his book. He and Casey were in the living room reading in the companionable quiet that only two bookworms could share. Casey turned a page and smiled at Dean from her place on the couch.  

“Yeah.” Dean walked over to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, raising an eyebrow at Zoe in question and tossing her one at her head nod. “We got time for showers before dinner’s ready?”

Sam leaned back in his chair, forcing the front legs to leave the floor, and craned his neck to see the timer on the stove. “Yeah, if you’re quick. We should be ready to eat in about twenty minutes.”

“What a good little wifey you are,” Dean teased, slapping Sam’s knee as he passed on the way to the bedroom.

 

*****

 

Dean exited the bathroom ten minutes later to the sound of the timer going off. He opened the door to his and Sam’s bedroom long enough to toss his sweaty clothes on top of the dirty pile before coming out into the living room. Crossing to the couch, he slapped Casey’s feet for her to move them so he could sit down. In the kitchen, Sam removed the baking dish from the oven, setting it down on the stove with a scrutinizing look.

“What’s the verdict, Sammy? Should I get the Pepto out now?”

“Bite me, Dean. 

“It’ll be fine, Sam, “Casey soothed.

When Zoe finally emerged with a proclamation that she was now ‘fresh as a daisy’, they sat down to Sam’s first attempt at cooking. Dean piled a bite on his fork and took an experimental sniff. It looked good, some kind of potato and beef casserole with mixed vegetables in the center, and it smelled good. Crossing the fingers of the hand under the table, Dean popped the forkful into his mouth. Rolling the bite around in his mouth, rich flavors exploded across his taste buds. Looking over at Sam’s apprehensive face, waiting for Dean’s verdict, he let out a low moan of approval. Sam’s answering smile was blinding and Dean would swear until the day he died, not out loud mind you, that his heart actually stopped at the sight of it. 

As everyone dug in, Casey kicked Sam in the shin and muttered ‘told you’ around a mouthful.

 

*****

 

“Oh, god,” Dean groaned, hands rubbing over his stomach. “Sammy that was excellent. When we leave, you definitely have kitchen duty.” He pushed his chair back in an effort to leave the table.

“Wait! There’s more.” Sam jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. “I made dessert. Banana pudding.” Sam shrugged at Dean’s questioning glance. “Casey showed me. Apparently it’s a Southern thing.”

Dean pushed the pudding, banana, cookie combination around the bowl Sam set in front of him with the tip of his spoon skeptically. He saw Casey and Zoe take large bites and give Sam satisfied little head bobs. Spooning some in his mouth, Dean licked his lips and smiled. “Definitely have kitchen duty,” he repeated as he filled his spoon again.

 

Dean climbed into bed that night with a satisfied smirk on his face. After Casey left for her night on guard, Dean, Sam and Zoe began a friendly game of poker. Well, it started out friendly. By ten o’clock, Sam went to bed grumbling about competitive natures and cut throat playing. That’s when Dean and Zoe decided to make things interesting and play for money. Slipping between the sheets, his grin widened thinking about his wallet on the dresser now three hundred dollars fatter. Tomorrow, he’d have to find somewhere to hide it because if Sam found out he’d no doubt make Dean give it back to her. 

Sam snuffled in his sleep and rearranged his legs. Dean turned his head, smiling at his little brother. Lately, Sam had taken to sleeping on his stomach with his face away from Dean, a position he’d never used before. Dean reached over and gently ruffled the hair on the back of Sam’s head.

“You did good today, Sam.”

Dean could hear the curtains fluttering, a breeze from the open window rustling the thin fabric, and he sighed at the sound of crickets and the feel of the cool air on his uncovered skin. Another gentle draft blew, disturbing the curls resting on the side of Sam’s face, and sent a floral scent Dean’s way. 

Casey’s scent, Dean’s mind helpfully supplied. It had been on the pillow cases the first night they were there before Casey had the opportunity to change the sheets. Jealousy shot through Dean, burning his heart and prickling at the base of his skull. After a moment, Dean chuckled at himself. This was Sam after all. Painfully, awkwardly shy Sammy. The smell was probably just in the pillows. _Right?_ He lightly ran his fingers through Sam’s hair then closed his eyes, mind determinedly thinking of anything but his little brother wrapped around a petite brunette.

 

*****

 

The next morning at breakfast, Casey decreed that Sam should be well enough to start joining them on their daily runs. Apparently, breakfast was the meal for making announcements.

“Today?” Sam practically bounced in excitement. With nothing but homework and the four walls of the house and barn for the last two weeks, he was dying to get outside.

“I don’t see why not. We can go after breakfast if you want.”

Sam folded an entire piece of bacon in his mouth, grinning like a maniac.

 

 They agreed to take it slow, work within Sam’s limitations to keep him from overexerting himself. However, less than a mile from the house, Dean and Zoe fell into their daily practice of turning a routine jog into a no holds barred foot race. Sam and Casey lagged behind, shaking their heads at the receding taunts and footsteps of the older two.

Casey came to a stop when they reached a clearing next to a small creek and sat on one of the boulders lining the creek bed. 

“Sam, sit and rest for a minute then we’ll head back. I think this is far enough for your first day.”

“I can go…” Where Sam could go was cut off by a low hiss. 

Casey jumped up from her seat, pulling her gun from the holster at her back. She reached out swiftly, grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him behind her. 

“Where is it,” he whispered in her ear, unholstering his own weapon.

“Shhhh.”

They spun in unison as another hiss, louder this time, came from their right. Slowly, two men moved forward from the surrounding trees. They stayed to the shadowy confines of the tree line, flinching when the breeze shifted the overhanging branches to allow sunlight to spill over them. Silver flashed in the man on the left’s eyes.

“Skinwalker,” Sam hissed in Casey ear.

“You know…a vampire and a skinwalker walk into a forest, sounds like the setup for a cheesy joke. So, it makes me wonder what two creatures, that hate sunlight, are doing here at ten o’clock in the morning.” Casey moved to her left, stepping in front of Sam. Yep, she was a hunter. Sarcastic banter with killer creatures in the middle of a pants-shitting situation…CHECK!

“Stay out of this, angelus fortis. We’ve been sent for the Rex Puer,” The right one, the vampire, sneered.

“Who sent you?” Sam felt like laughing at the entire situation. The only thing crazier than demons with guns? Vampires in league with skinwalkers and speaking Latin.

“Didn’t catch the black-eyed bitch’s name, but she wants that tight ass of yours _real_ bad, Sam. So, let’s not keep her waiting.”

“Sorry, boys.” Casey leveled her gun and fired a shot. The vampire’s head snapped back, but he remained on his feet. “Zoe! Dean!” Casey’s screams echoed off the surrounding trunks.

The vampire looked back, a quarter sized hole dead center of its forehead, lips curling up to reveal the second set of teeth lowering into place. The skinwalker’s bones popped, body taking on a distinctly feline appearance. Within a few heartbeats, it had transformed into a mountain lion.

“Zoe! Dean!” Casey pushed Sam back when he tried to maneuver around her. “Damnit, Sam, stay back.”

The vampire charged. Casey fired off another impotent shot to slow it down, but it was prepared this time and dodged the bullet. It grabbed her arm and, in a swift movement, flung her ten feet and into a tree trunk.

Sam faced off against the skinwalker. It slunk low to the ground, prowling, then attacked. Sam was on his back before he had the chance to aim his weapon. The animal hovered above him and raked a heavy paw across chest, claws sinking through cotton and flesh. He screamed and the cat set both massive feet on his chest and bore down its weight in an attempt to keep him pinned, pressing hard on the still healing ribs of his right side. Another swipe of fur and claws and Sam could feel warmth running down his left arm. Pain bloomed in both legs as claws unsheathed to pierce the skin and muscle of his thighs to still Sam’s frantic leg movements. A shot rang out and the animal’s body fell on top of Sam like a dead weight pushing all the air from his lungs. He closed his eyes and tried to push the carcass off, desperate for a deep breath, but didn’t have the right leverage to free himself. As black spots danced along his vision, the pressure was released and air rushed back into his oxygen starved body with an audible inhale. His head was lifted and cradled in tender warmth and green eyes swam into focus, wide with fear. 

“It’s okay, Sammy. We’ll get you patched up. Don’t worry,” the green eyes cooed at him. They disappeared, replaced by ash blonde hair as someone yelled. “Casey, get your ass over here.” Then the green eyes were back. He felt pressure and the pain across his chest and along his arm doubled. He gasped, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. A hand petted his hair. Sam was so tired, exhaustion seeping into ever appendage and fogging his mind. He snuggled his head into the hand in his hair and closed his heavy eyelids.

“It’s alright, Sam. I’ve got you. Not gonna let you go. Just stay with me. Everything’s gonna be okay. Please, Sammy, stay with me.” The hand stopped petting, now shaking his shoulders, and the soothing voice turned urgent. Opening his eyes, he saw that the green eyes were watery with unshed tears. 

_Those eyes shouldn’t be sad, they should be happy. Dean should be happy. Dean_

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I’m right here.” The hand was now on the side of his face. Dean’s gaze moved to Sam’s side. “Casey, do something!”

“Dean. “ Sam waited until Dean turned back to him, battling back the exhaustion. “I love you.” Smiling slightly, Sam closed his eyes and lost the fight, slipping into unconsciousness.


	15. Chapter 15

_Blood oh god the blood._

Red over white cotton, red over tanned skin, red over fall browned grass. Sam’s words about his nightmare ‘lots and lots of blood.” Sam’s blood. 

_Oh, god, too much. More than he’s ever lost. Oh god, it needs to stay inside. Sammy needs it on the inside._

Blood tricked over and through his fingers as he tried to hold it inside his brother.

_Has to stay inside. Inside. Inside. Inside._

Distractedly, he felt his body being pushed and pulled, tugged and shoved. Voices too far away to concern him, floated to his ears.

“Zoe. Get Trotter on the phone.” 

The motions picked up strength. Push. Pull. Tug. Cool air blew across his face and shoulders. 

“I don’t care if you’re busy. This is Zoe Hartfield and I’m telling you to fucking find him, now.”

“Dean, move your hands.” Fingers tried to wiggle underneath his palms. 

“NO. I have to hold it in. It has to stay inside.” His voice sounded weak to his own ears, a mumbled whisper. 

“I know, Dean. You’re doing a good job. Just let me help. Okay?” Casey’s voice was soothing. The fingers on his hands kept up a continual pressure, gently prying the numb digits from Sam’s cooling flesh. Panic slashed through Dean’s heart bringing some clarity of mind.

 Casey was kneeling on the other side of Sam, torso bare except for the running bra she had on under her tank top. Another breeze went by and Dean shivered. Looking down, his shirt was gone.

“Sam? Sam, you’ve gotten yourself a few scrapes. I’m gonna take care of you. Dean’s right here. He’s right here.” Dean stared wide-eyed. Casey was talking in low, calm tones to his unconscious brother, but her hands were a flurry of movement, tearing away Sam’s shirt and checking his injuries.

_Lots and lots of blood._

Dean’s hand flew to his mouth and he swallowed reflexively to keep the bile rising in his throat from escaping. Three deep gashes and one lighter scratch crossed Sam’s chest diagonally from his left shoulder to below his right peck. His left arm was a mass of shredded skin and muscle, four separations in the skin visible starting just below the round of his shoulder and stopping just shy of the elbow. Four puncture wounds dotted each leg in a horizontal line. And everywhere, blood.

“Casey?” Zoe stood close to her and placed a small cell phone to her ear.

 “Trotter,” Casey breathed, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I need you.” There was a pause, a muffled question over the phone, as Casey pressed her tank top to Sam’s arm, fingers gripping tight enough that the knuckles blanched. “Um, hold on. Zoe, laces.” She nodded her head toward Sam’s shoes, phone slipping slightly with the motion. She moved Dean’s hand, not clamped over his mouth, to Sam’s chest, forcing it to press Dean’s shirt to the bleeding wounds.

 “Trotter?” She spoke into the phone again. “Yeah, it’s Sam.” Pause and another muffled question. “Trauma not medical. Hypovolemia from massive soft tissue damage. Hold on again.”  Zoe handed her the shoe lace out of Sam’s sneaker and Casey tied it around Sam’s arm above the wounds. “Tourniquet time,” she looked at her watch, “10:20am. You’ve got two hours, Trotter.  Hurry.” She dropped the phone to the ground not bothering to disconnect the call. 

She lifted the shirt under Dean’s hand to check the bleeding before replacing it with a grimace.

 “We gotta get him back to the house. Zoe, grab the other side.” Casey slid a hand under Sam’s back and the other underneath his thighs where blood still trickled from the puncture wounds. 

“Are-aren’t you going to treat those?” Dean pointed, eyes catching on the red staining his hands. 

_Sam’s blood on my hands._

As Zoe moved to mirror Casey’s stance, the younger girl spared a glance at Dean. “They’re not life threatening. I’ll handle them when we get back.” Casey locked eyes with Zoe and mouthed ‘one, two, three’ and both girls lifted the dead weight of his brother like he was a child. 

“Let me…let me help carry him.” Dean stepped forward, arm extended.

“It’s okay, Dean. We’ve got him. Just try to keep up.” And with that, the girls took off, running awkwardly, in the direction of the house. Dean watched them in quiet awe for a moment before his legs began pumping as well. Running flat out, he was able to keep them in sight and they made it back to the house in a third of the time it took them to get to the clearing. Bustling in the house, Casey yelled at Dean to clear the top sheet and blanket off his bed. They laid Sam down gingerly, jostling him as little as possible. 

Dean stood back, eyes wide and frightened. Sam was ghostly, sweat covered every exposed inch of him and his breathing was coming in slow, shallow pants. 

_Oh god. I can’t lose him. I can’t._

“Zoe, get my bag from the bathroom then wait outside for Trotter.” Casey reached into the nightstand and pulled out a pair of scissors. She started cutting away the legs of Sam’s sweatpants.

Casey checked over each punctures before announcing that they were clean in and out wounds, not that deep and shouldn’t need stitches provided Sam didn’t move too much for the first few days.  She applied clean white gauze pads to them and wrapped white bandages around Sam’s thighs to hold the dressings in place.

“Dean, you with me?” She placed her hand on his arm, pulling him from his dazed stance. “I need to start stitching the wounds I can handle so when Trotter gets here he can concentrate on Sam’s arm.”

“No, I- I’ll do it.”

She hesitated briefly. “Okay.” She opened the bag and started to pull items from the inside pocket. A few minutes later, she nudged his hand with the back of hers, needle and thread pinched between her fingers.

Dean grasped the needle and waited for Casey to remove his shirt covering Sam’s chest. The bleeding had slowed but was nowhere near stopped. Dean placed one hand on his brother to steady himself and poised the other at the end of one of the gashes. Preparing to push the needle through the skin, he looked from the wound to Sam’s face.  Sam was shivering, shaking underneath Dean’s braced palm. 

He felt warm fingers envelop his holding the needle and realized that he was shaking not Sam. Casey tenderly pulled the needle from his hand and circled around his back. She nudged him with her shoulder up closer to Sam’s head, bending over to begin suturing. 

“Let him know you’re here. Give him something to guide him back from the darkness.”

Dean leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam’s forehead. His fingers combed through Sam’s hair, reassurances falling from his lips, muttered words of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘I’m here’ interspersed with ‘doing good baby boy’ and ‘almost over’. 

Casey worked quickly and efficiently, practiced hands completing memorized tasks with ease. Dean leaned his cheek against Sam’s forehead, continuing his litanies of support and praise, mesmerized by the rhythmic motions of Casey’s hands systematically sealing Sam’s skin back together.  He kept a mental tally in his head with each pass of the thread and when she snipped the thick line at the end of the final gash, he was up to 75. 

Casey turned to put the unused items back in the bag, the room eerily quiet except for the rustle of the duffel’s canvas. Outside, Dean heard the rumble that he’d come to associate with Trotter’s pick-up truck followed by the slamming of a door and hurried voices. Trotter came into the room, suddenly taking up all the available space, nodded at Dean and Casey before turning his attention to Sam. Casey moved off the bed and pulled Dean up off the floor.

“Come with me.”

“No, I can’t leave him. I need to be there. What if-“

“Trotter needs to work on his arm. You’ll only be in the way. Stay here with Zoe and you can go back in as soon as he’s done. Dean, Sam’s strong. He’ll be fine, but you have to let us work on him.”

 

*****

 

They’d been out in the living room for over an hour. At one point Dean heard muffled cries that he knew were Sam’s, but they subsided quickly, more than likely with the help of drugs.  He paced the floor, his mind whirling in frantic loops. He tried to take comfort in Casey’s assurance that Sam was strong and would be fine, but he couldn’t move past the idea that Sam had been through so much lately and maybe this would be the straw that broke the brother’s back.  There’d been so much blood, he still had some stained around his nail beds even though he’d washed his hands three times already.  He raked his fingers through this hair, grabbing a handful in the back and tugging hard, trying to ground himself with the pain.

Zoe sat stoically in the chair with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes tracked his path back and forth but she never commented. 

The door to the bedroom creaked open and Trotter and Casey emerged, both pale and tired looking. Trotter walked up to Dean and smiled weakly.

“We’ve repaired the damage to his arm. He’s sedated right now, but should wake up in about an hour or so.”

Dean refused to breathe, waiting on the words he’d needed to hear since Casey’s shouted his name from that clearing. He looked up at the bear-like physician with pleading eyes, unable to ask what he had to know.

“He’s going to be fine, Dean. It’ll take some time for recovery, but he’s fine.” Trotter extended his hand to Dean, but the older Winchester was preoccupied with the expression on Casey’s face to notice it. When it didn’t appear that Dean was going to shake his hand, Trotter lowered his outstretched one. He turned and gave Casey a quick kiss to the top of the head, said a mumbled good-bye and left.

“What isn’t he telling me?” Dean’s eyes never wavered from Casey. Her eyes were trained on the floor, face drawn with worry.  “You said you’d never lie to me. Don’t start now.” Dean knew he was pleading, but really couldn’t muster the energy to care.

“Trotter was right. Sam will be fine. It’s just,” she swallowed hard, eyes lifting to meet Dean’s, “the muscular damage to his arm was extensive.  Trotter sutured the bicep to minimize the scar tissue, but he’s probably going to have some loss of function.”

“What do you mean ‘loss of function’?” Ice chips of fear trailed down from his neck to the base of his spine. 

“The strength will never be the same. If he’s lucky, he’ll have 60% of what he did before the injury.”

 

*****

 

Dean opened the door to the bedroom quietly.  Sam was lying under the covers, the bandages covering the newly stitched gashes on his chest were just visible above the sheet, his left arm wrapped in gauze from shoulder to elbow and immobilized in a sling. Tubing led from two IV bags, one with blood and the other with saline, hanging on nails that Dean was certain used to hold two landscape paintings and ended at the needle in the crook of Sam’s arm. Mercifully, Sam had been cleaned. All traces of blood wiped away, his skin unnaturally pale in the amber glow of the bedside lamp. Vials were lined up on the nightstand, a battalion of pain killers ready to be called into action when needed. Dean lifted a few, nodding his approval at the familiar names.

Sam’s face was relaxed, sleep and narcotics masking the pain that would inevitably catch up to him. Dean ran the back of his fingers down the side of Sam’s cheek, following the curve of his jaw. Gently, oh so carefully, he dragged the pads of his fingers over Sam’s bandaged arm and choked back the sorrow crawling up his throat, knowing if it escaped it would be a scream. Rubbing a hand over his weary eyes, he pulled the antique rocking chair from the corner of the room closer to Sam’s side of the bed. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and let his hand support the weight of his head.

“Casey, what the fuck is going on? Did we step into Bizarro world?”  Zoe’s words drifted in through the slightly open door. 

“Keep your voice down,” Casey hissed. “Dean and Sam need to rest. I don’t know what’s going on. But those things were working for a demon, if you can believe that, and they wanted Sam.”

Dean sat up straighter at this comment. So far he’d been under the impression that shit like this happened to the girls a lot. It never occurred to him that those sonuvabitches might have been after Sam.

 “So, what, a demon sends in two stunt creatures to get Sam? I thought demons hated creatures.” Zoe’s skepticism was thick in the air.

“It’s actually smart. Our wards don’t work against creatures, just demons. I’ve got one weirder than that for you. They knew what I am. The vampire called me angelus fortis.” Dean heard the creak of the chair in the living room.

“Angel warrior?” Zoe’s voice lilted in surprise. “You’re trying to tell me that a vampire and a skinwalker knowingly came after you to collect Sam for a demon. Why would they do that for a demon? I mean there’s that whole mutual hatred thing for starters, but then to stick their necks out on the line for a milk run?”

“I think it had less to do with the demon and more to do with Sam. They called him the Rex Puer, the Boy King. You ever heard anything about a Boy King?” 

_Boy King? What the hell?_

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Zoe’s tone was thoughtful.

“I’ll e-mail Bobby. If anyone would know it would be him.” Casey sighed wearily and Dean felt sympathy deep in his bones.

“How’s your back?” Guilt curled in Dean’s stomach. He hadn’t considered that Casey was hurt. He’d been too focused on Sam.

“Sore. The bruises will be gone in a few hours and I’ll be good as new.” Dean huffed a small, sad laugh at the memory of Sam practically holding Casey down the night after she was shot to check over the bullet wound only to see a shiny pink-white scar where it had been. Casey had just shrugged and mumbled something about part of the ‘upgrade package’.  Dean reached over and took Sam’s hand and wished Sam could have gotten he same upgrade.

He slid out of the rocking chair to kneel next to the bed and stroke Sam’s face with his free hand. Sam shifted and his face scrunched in discomfort, the effects of the medicine lessening. Dean allowed his mind to revisit finding Sam, bloody and broken, and Sam whispering ‘I love you’ before closing his eyes. 

He felt numb, riding too many emotions for too long. He stared at his brother through anguished eyes, red-rimmed from trying not to cry, and shook his head back and forth in disbelief and denial. 

Small, now familiar, hands tugged on his arm forcing him to stand. Casey led him around to the other side of the bed, pulled back the covers and sat him on the edge of the mattress. She worked quickly removing his shirt, pants and shoes. Dean finally forced his eyes to meet hers as she pushed him back on the bed next to his sleeping brother.

“For warmth,” she smiled reassuringly, “And comfort,”she added as an understatement.

She ran her fingers through his hair and brought her palm down to cup his cheek. “Get some sleep, Dean.”

He watched her walk out the door, pulling it to but not latching it. Dean rolled over on his side to face Sam, lifting up on his elbow to get a better look. He felt like if he didn’t keep his eyes on Sam every minute, he’d disappear. He leaned over his baby brother’s face and whispered, “I love you too, Sammy” before pressing his lips to Sam’s.

 

*****

 

Even through the fog that he was sure was morphine, Sam hurt everywhere with particular points of interest in his chest and arm. His drug induced sleep hadn’t completely released him from its clutches when he heard ‘I love you too, Sammy’ in Dean’s broken voice and felt lips on his.

_Fucking great! Another  dream.  The least my fucked up mind could have done was forego the realistic pain. That’s it. I’m waking up._

Sam forced his eyelids open and let out a small startled gasp to find Dean pulling away. Sam blinked rapidly, brows drawn together in confusion. _Am I still dreaming?_ A look of absolute terror crossed Dean’s face and he froze, hovering inches above Sam.

“Dean?”

“Sammy, oh god, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Sam lifted up to close the distance between their lips, but cried out as pain lanced across his chest. 

“Sam, stay down. You’ll pop your stitches.” Dean pressed him back tenderly. The long fingers of Sam’s right hand curled around Dean’s upper arm and yanked him closer fusing their lips together again. Dean froze not sure what to do, but a plan formed the moment Sam’s lips parted and his tongue ran across Dean’s lips. Dean’s hand, arm still firmly clasped in Sam’s grasp, slid underneath the baby hairs at Sam’s nape and wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck. He moved Sam’s head slightly allowing him a better angle to deepen the kiss. Dean spent several minutes mapping the inside of Sam’s mouth, comparing the taste to his dream and finding it lacking, before he retreated, preparing to break the contact. Sam’s grip tightened on his arm and his tongue chased Dean’s, set on gaining a similar knowledge of Dean’s mouth.

Dean leaned back and rested his forehead to Sam’s as both men drew in desperate lungfuls of air.

“Dean…please…don’t.” Sam’s eyes were round, fear pulsating from the hazel depths. His fingers dug in to the point of pain trying to keep Dean close.

“Sam, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s fine, I swear,” he smiled softly, intimate in a way that Sam had never seen before. “You need to rest now. We’ll figure this out later. I promise.” Dean ran his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone then down to trace the kiss swollen plumpness of Sam’s lips. 

“You promise?” Sam’s rolled his eyes, skepticism blanketing his words. He knew Dean. Sam would sleep and when he woke up Dean would brush this off as a mistake or, worse, try to convince Sam he was having a crazy dream. His heart sank at the idea and his stomach clenched. Disappointment welled in him and he looked away before Dean could read it on his face, his brother’s hand slipping from his lips.

“Sammy.” Dean said his name soft and low, like Sam imagined lovers spoke to each other. Dean’s hand took hold of his chin and tenderly turned Sam to face him again. “Look in my eyes and tell me if I’m lying. I promise you, we’ll figure this out once you’ve slept some more.”

Sam stared at the green orbs, so open and honest that he felt Dean had given him a glimpse to the bottom of his soul.  Normally, Dean was a fortress with tall, thick curtain walls, hard and impenetrable, protecting his heart and soul from the outside world, but right now a Sam sized gate had been made allowing him unprecedented access. Suddenly, Sam felt insignificant and unworthy.

“O-okay,” he stuttered, still overwhelmed by the privilege he’d been granted. He cleared his throat, “Lay with me?”

“Of course, Sammy. Anything you want.” Dean moved back to lie on his side next to Sam. He placed his hand on Sam’s chest above the bandages and shifted forward until his lips rested on the round of his uninjured shoulder. The morphine and Sam’s preoccupation had kept him from questioning the severity of his wounds and Dean sighed in relief that he wouldn’t have to deliver the prognosis to his baby brother just yet.

 

*****

 

As the adrenaline drunkedness of finally being able to kiss Dean wore off, Sam became acutely aware of the pains in his body. His chest and arm _hurt_ and burned and he could feel aches in both of his legs. His eyes wandered down and he could see the gauze covering his skin. A sharp pain took his breath away when he tried to wiggle the fingers on his left hand.

Dean’s head lifted up from the mattress at Sam’s sharp inhale. “Sammy?”

Sam took a deep, calming breath and then another, waiting for the pain dull and ebb. “How bad,” he croaked.

Dean ran his teeth over his bottom lip, biting down on the edge _. So much for putting this off._ “Seventy five stitches across your chest and eight puncture wounds to your legs, four each.” He hesitated.

“And the arm,” Sam prompted.

Dean took a deep breath of his own. “Trotter came and repaired the damage. It’ll take some time to heal, though.”

“How bad, Dean?”

“It’s a…it’s um…”

“How. Bad.”  Sam tried to keep his voice calm and contain the panic that was suffocating him. Dean looked petrified and that scared Sam worse than not being able to move his fingers.

“You’re gonna have some loss of function.” Dean decided to use the terms that Casey had given him, rushing through the words like maybe if he got them out quickly it would lessen the sting. 

Sam stared at the ceiling, jaw firm and shook his head slowly in understanding. He licked his lips. “But I will be able to use it again? It’s not paralyzed, right?”

“No, not paralyzed. Casey says you’ll probably have about 60% of the strength you did before.” He watched his little brother carefully. Dean wasn’t sure how he’d take finding out that one of his limbs would never work right again, let alone how Sam would handle it.

Sam continued to stare at the ceiling and let out a long exhale before turning his attention back to his brother. “Okay then. Sixty percent, I can handle that. Good thing it was my left arm.” He smiled, it was weak but genuine.

_Leave it to Sam to find a silver lining._

Dean nodded his agreement because, honestly, what else could he do? He leaned over quickly and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s lips. 

“We’ll figure it out.” Dean repeated firmly. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

He scooted up the mattress until he was able to rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder and lean his forehead against Sam’s temple. The hand on Sam’s chest traced a soothing path on the exposed skin. Sam sighed and Dean felt him relax. They laid there in silence until they both fell asleep.

 

*****

 

Sam’s head was going to explode. Images flashed before him, occluded like he was seeing them through a thick veil, and sounds surrounded him on all sides. He reached out toward the veil to push it aside, to see the scenes that matched the disjointed noises, but he couldn’t find an edge to grab onto. As his fingers touched the barrier, his mind screamed _Casey_ at him.

Sam jerked awake gasping and they crying out as pain flared from his movements. Twilight filled the room, but he could make out the worried glint of his brother’s eyes above him.

“Sammy? Sammy! What’s wrong? You okay?”

Sam panted, voice and breath robbed by pain and panic. His eyes were clamped shut against the pain shooting through his body and head. After several deep gulps, he gasped, “Casey! Something. Wrong. Help. Her.” He locked gazed with Dean and pushed him toward the edge of the bed with his right arm. “I’m fine. Go!”

Dean jumped out of bed and rushed from the room. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but Sam was certain that Casey needed him. He slid on socked feet into the living room, finding a surprised Zoe watching tv on the couch.

“Casey? Where’s Casey?” 

“In the training room. What’s wrong? Is Sam okay?” Zoe jumped to her feet.

“I have to find Casey. Stay with Sam.”

Dean ran from the small house to the barn outside. He shoved the door to the training room open, grateful that Casey hadn’t locked it. In the middle of the white padded floor, Casey was huddled in a fetal position shaking in the throes of a seizure.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean stood in the doorway, paralyzed by indecision, and watched Casey’s petite body jerk and twitch on the floor. His only experience with seizures was limited to the time when Sam was small, sometime before his first birthday, when he’d gotten fever, too high and too fast, that he had a seizure. Dean was just a little over five at the time and the most he could really remember was the look of panic of his father’s face and the too bright lights of the Emergency Department. 

He took a step forward, mind still searching for the best course of action, when her rigid body suddenly went slack. Kneeling down he could see she was breathing, he brushed strands of hair that had worked loose from her ponytail away from her face.

“Casey?” He shook her shoulders. “Casey?” A little louder this time. Getting no response, he scooped her up in his arms and hurried her back to the house in the desperate hope that Zoe would know what to do.  Grunting, he jostled her dead weight - _how exactly does someone so small weigh so much?_ \- to open the back door and moved inside quickly in the direction of Zoe’s room. Dean gently laid her down on the bed and heard the light steps of Zoe following her in the room.

“How’s Sam?”

Zoe knelt next to Casey and ran her hands over the younger girl’s body checking for an explanation for her unconsciousness. “He’s fine now. He was in a lot of pain so I gave him some pain medicine and a sedative. He should be out for a couple of hours at least. Now, tell me what the hell is going on? What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. Sam was having a nightmare and when I woke him up all he would say was that something was wrong with Casey. When I got to the training room she was having a seizure.” Dean walked out to the short hallway and positioned himself between the two open bedroom doors, giving himself a view of the sleeping figures in each. 

“A seizure?” Zoe’s whisper was barely audible as she reached over to Casey shoulder and pulled her onto her side. She petted the side of Casey head, hypnotized momentarily by the motion. “She’ll come around in a few minutes. Why don’t you go check Sam’s stitches to make sure he didn’t pop any of them?”

Dean watched as she rested her forehead on the edge of the mattress in front of Casey. He nodded even though Zoe couldn’t see and went into the room with Sam. 

The gauze on Sam’s legs was still crisp and white so Dean bypassed those and started carefully peeling the tape from the dressings on Sam’s chest and arm. Seventy five thin, black soldiers on his chest and fifty on his arm still intact, phalanxes of sentinels holding Sam together. Dean gently replaced the bandages, fingers smoothing down the securing tape along the edges. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at Sam’s sleeping face before bending over to place a chaste, loving kiss to his lips. 

“I love you, Sammy.”

 

*****

 

Dean turned, the feeling of being watched zinging up the nerves of his spine creating alarm bells in his brain.  Casey leaned against the door jamb, a faded blue blanket wrapped around her slumped shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean rose, smoothing the cover over Sam’s chest.

“Yeah,” she croaked and in the next breath, “no. Um, he’s going to be out for a little while. Can we talk?”

Sam’s face was slack in deep slumber and Dean ran his fingers across his brow. He nodded at her, watching Sam for a moment longer before following her into the living room. Zoe waited for them, propped against the table, carefully tracking Casey’s sluggish gait to the chair.  

“Did you know that Sam gets visions, Dean?” Casey’s words washed over him mid-step and in his shock he didn’t pick up his foot enough, caught his toe on the carpet and stumbled into the couch. Hissing a curse at the bruise he knew was eminent on his shin, he hopped once before falling in an ungraceful sprawl on the cushion. 

“What are you talking about?” _Lots and lots of blood_ came unbidden to Dean’s mind. Sam’s dream the night before Casey was shot and Dean carried her in the house, her blood slicking his palm, and a few short weeks before Sam was shredded by a Skinwalker and Dean followed him to the house, his blood drying on his fingers.  The blood drained from his face so fast he actually felt dizzy from the loss. Casey’s smile was tired and sympathetic, her arched eyebrow knowing.

“Visions?” Zoe’s voice was hushed with a note of something Dean couldn’t identify and he was automatically on the defensive. If it happens that Sam is a freak, which Dean is not entirely convinced of yet, then he’s Dean’s freak and no one, _no one_ , will treat him badly.

“Pretty intense ones from what I saw.” Casey pulled the blanket closer to her body.

“You saw?” Dean blinked. 

“I usually avoid psychics. I have a tendency to be… pulled in to their visions and premonitions,” Casey said, leveling a gaze at him. 

“So, that’s what happened this morning? Sam had a vision and you were sucked into it somehow?” At Casey’s head nod, he couldn’t help but ask the logical follow-up. “What did you see?”

“Lots of things,” she said vaguely. “Sam’s not safe here anymore. In the vision, he was kidnapped from here by two, I want to say, shapeshifters the night of the full moon. The next full moon is tomorrow night so we’ll need to move him tonight.” Dean nodded his agreement, his stomach in knots. “I have to go into town before we leave, but when I get back we need to figure out how to get him out.” Casey stood up and shrugged off the blanket.

“Where do you think you’re going? You had a seizure less than an hour ago. You’re not well,” Zoe bellowed, her shoulders in a hard line. 

“I’m fine. I have to go into town and pick up some things that I ordered. I’ll be back before Sam wakes.” Casey’s fists were balled at her sides and her words were forced through gritted teeth, trying to reign in the agitation that was rolling off her. She turned toward the door, picking up the keys to the Jeep off the counter.

“Casey! You will tell me where you are going. I will order you if I have to.” The words were cold and steely when spoken, but Dean could see from Zoe’s expression she regretted them the moment they left her lips.

Casey turned on her heel and looked back at her friend like she’d been slapped. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath before swallowing hard. “Do you trust me?” It was spoken so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear, the tone pained like Casey was afraid of the answer.

“Of course. With my life.”

“Then trust me now. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.” 

Zoe tilted her head to the ceiling and blew a deep breath through pursed lips as the sound of the kitchen door closing echoed in the silence. She righted her head and rolled the tension from her shoulders. Brushing past Dean, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.

 

*****

 

Dean looked down as Sam slowly blinked his eyes open, the lingering effects of the sedative making the movements lethargic. He’d lain down next to his brother after Casey left and for the last two hours watched Sam sleep in between light dozes of his own. His mind had spent the time turning over and over where he and Sam should go next. In the last seventeen years they had visited nearly every corner of this country, criss-crossed it dozens of times, but he’d never given serious thought to where among the amber plains would he want to call home. Home, that was the one thing that Dean was certain of though, wherever he and Sam ended up was going to be home, a permanent home. His fingers traced the outer edge of the bandage on Sam’s arm. The sight of Sam’s bloody body combined with the gut wrenching pain Dean had experienced thinking Sam was going to die was enough to convince the eldest Winchester sibling that some things were more important than the ‘family business’. Sam’s hazel eyes slid into focus and a shy smile spread across his face.

“Hey,” he said timidly. Dean could see the uncertainty that Sam was desperately trying to keep contained. He sensed the anticipatory fear and heartbreak that Sam was expecting, believing that Dean would have changed his mind or decided against this thing between them. 

“Hey,” Dean smirked and leaned over to brush a light kiss across Sam’s lips. Sam’s eyes widened at the touch of Dean’s soft lips to his, body shaking from an excess of nerves. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere. Whatever this is, Sam, I’m in. I just want you to make sure this is what you really want.” Dean caressed the side of his brother’s cheek with his knuckles.

Tears leaked out of the corners of Sam’s eyes. “God, Dean.” He let out a relieved exhale and the tremors seemed to calm. “I want this. I-I have for a long time. How – how are we going to do this?”

“Slowly, Sammy. Very slowly. You need time to heal and…”

“And what?”

“And I don’t want to screw this up. I mean, I know I’ll screw up some times, but, you know, _really_ screw this up. I just” Slender fingers pressed against his lips thankfully silencing his babbling. Sam face was so full of love and adoration, Dean’s stomach ached. No one, no one save Sammy had ever looked at him like that and he could feel it in his fucking toes.

“Slow,” Sam repeated, tilting his chin up in invitation.

Dean dipped low, the kiss soft with gentle pressure and languid strokes. The pulled back from Sam’s mouth at the sound of the Jeep coming up the driveway. 

“Sounds like Casey’s back.”

“Casey!” Guilt flashed across Sam’s features as he remembered the dream from earlier and his feeling that she was in trouble. “Is she okay? What happened? Where was she?”

“Sam.” Sam calmed at the sound of his name. “She’s fine. It was a seizure but everything is okay now.” Dean rubbed his palm over Sam’s stomach in soothing circles until his words penetrated Sam’s panicked mind. “Look, Sam. We have to leave tonight. Casey doesn’t think it’s safe anymore.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“What do you remember of the dream you had this morning?” Dean propped his head in his hand, distantly hearing the sound of Casey moving in the main part of the house.

“Just sounds mostly. It was like the actual visual part was behind a curtain. I went to pull it aside but couldn’t and when I touched it…” His voice trailed as he recalled the feeling of Casey in danger when his fingers touched the veil. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Casey says they’re not dreams, they’re visions.” Sam’s gaze widened slightly and slid off Dean’s face, fixing resolutely out the open window. Dean could almost hear the pieces snap into place as his mind arranged them to complete the mental puzzle. “How long have you known?”

“Not long,” Sam mumbled. “Figured it out after the werewolf. I dreamed the night before that it killed you. When I saw it running at you, it was like living my nightmare.” 

Dean remembered Sam thrashing the night before the hunt. After Dean woke him up, he told Sam that he needed to go back to sleep so he’d be sharp for the next night.

“Sam, you should have told me.” Dean cupped Sam’s face and rubbed his thumb over Sam’s -cheekbone. “The one you had this morning,” He waited for Sam’s nod, “Casey saw it too. She said in it you were kidnapped tomorrow night. Does that match the sounds you remember?”

Sam’s eyes moved back and forth as his mind searched his memory. When they stilled, he looked slightly green.  Dean took that as confirmation and brought his fingers down to wrap around Sam’s neck. “Don’t worry, Sam. I won’t let it happen. We’re going to get you out tonight.”

There was a light knock on the doorjamb and the brothers looked up to see Casey standing in the opening flanked by Zoe. Dean had the uncontrollable urge to jump back, knowing that their position was incriminating, but Sam stilled him with a gentle hand on his arm and a slight shake of his head. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him, but suppressed the instinct, trusting Sam. 

“Can we come in?” 

“Yeah.”

Casey moved to the dresser and leaned against the front while Zoe sat in the rocking chair that Dean had pulled up to the side of the bed the previous night.  Dean untangled his arms from around Sam and sat up, reclining back against the headboard.

 

“I have an idea on how to do this. Trotter will be here soon to check Sam over again and give you the instructions you need to care for Sam’s wounds on your own. Once Trotter’s given us the green light to move Sam, each of us will take a car and head in a different direction. Zoe, take the Corvette; Trotter will drive the Jeep; Dean, you and Sam will, of course, leave in the Impala; and I’ll use the Judge.  Just let us know which way you want to go and we’ll head in the other three. Hopefully, we’ll be able to split the demons up or maybe even get them to follow the wrong car. Both times they’ve attacked, you’ve been separated. It would stand to reason we’d do it again.” 

“Trotter agreed to put himself at risk like that? He barely knows us.” Sam shifted on the bed and winced at the burning pain in his chest. Casey didn’t answer, but Zoe rolled her eyes. Sam raised his eyebrow in question, Zoe merely shrugging in response.

“Florida, then Indiana,” Dean answered Casey without hesitation, having made up his mind while his brother slept, and now Sam’s eyebrow is directed at his brother. Dean looked over at him with a soft smile. “You always loved the beach. We could stay there until you graduate then settle in Indiana. There was that little town in the northern part that we passed through a few years ago, remember?” 

Sam’s smile was blinding. He could clearly see the small town, quaint in the old Americana way with flags flying from posts outside the Mom and Pop stores and the highways leading in and out of town edged by large farms complete with iconic red barns and silos. They had passed through around this same time of year, the town decorated for a fall festival to celebrate another successful year. John had stopped for gas and Sam, looking out the window with longing, murmured that it looked like a nice place to live. That had been three years ago, just a random comment, the first and only of its kind, and leave it to Dean to remember.  

“Yeah. I think that’s a good idea.” 

“Okay, good. That’s settled. Here.” Casey handed over a manila envelope that Dean hadn’t noticed before. “You’re going to need this.”

Dean took the proffered package, noticing it was weightier than he first thought and set it in his lap. Sam made a vague gesture that both Dean and Casey understood to mean that he wanted to sit up. One on each side, they lifted and maneuvered him like the finest china, shifting the pillow behind his back and under his arm to maximize their support, until he rested back on the headboard next to his brother. Settled again, he waved his hand over the envelope in a ‘go ahead’ motion. Dean opened the end and dumped the contents in his lap, papers, laminated cards, phones and other small items sliding over the soft duvet on the bed. Sam leaned over and picked up three North Carolina driver’s licenses, his face smiling back at him on one with the name Sam Remington printed on it and Dean’s smirk on the other two, one with the name Dean Remington and the other with Dean Browning. 

“Remington and Browning?” He laughed softly, amused eyes on Casey’s embarrassed expression.

“Variation on a theme,” she smiled. “There are birth certificates and Social Security cards to match. I also had Sam’s school records done in this name so he can be easily registered. There are documents in there showing Dean as your guardian to alleviate any questions.” 

Dean plucked the IDs from Sam’s hand and looked over the ones with his picture. “Why do I have two?” 

Casey leveled that knowing look at him again and god he is really beginning to hate that look. “It’s easier to remain brothers until Sam graduates since people might think twice about an underage minor living with a single, unrelated man. Afterwards, I thought it would be simpler for you to hide if you weren’t family since everyone is searching for brothers and,” she paused, continuing after Sam winks, “it would accommodate the life you might want to live.”

_Not live as brothers? Why would we want that?_

Sam, next to him, nodded his head, a grateful smile on his lips, and Dean had to suppress the urge to lean over and kiss him.

_Oh._

Sam rifled through the items picking up two black cards with an American Express logo in the corner. His eyes widened in shock and his head snapped up to the younger of the two girls.

Dean watched as Casey casually shrugged her shoulder and said, “I have access to better fakes”, but Sam looked far from convinced.  He turned toward his little brother to question him, but Sam had moved on now concentrating on a piece of paper. 

“You know what to do with those, right?” Casey jutted her chin toward the paper in Sam’s hand. Sam nodded and set the paper down on his legs and traced the intricate designs with his index finger.

“What are they?” Dean slid the paper out from under Sam’s reverent touch to get a better look.

“Enochian runes,” Casey answered. “They’ll hide you from demons and angels. You’ll be virtually invisible to them.”

“You know where to put them?” Zoe asked.

“Same place as Casey’s, I assume. Middle of the back between the shoulder blades, behind the heart.” Sam replied matter of factly. Dean’s questioning gaze, forced him to go further. “What? I saw it the night she was shot.”

“They can basically go anywhere but are more potent the closer they are to the heart. They are supposed to hide your soul and it was the belief that the heart was where the soul resides.  The medallion in there will serve the same purpose until you can get the ink done.” Casey pointed to the two round charms strung on metal chains on bed. “Those cell phones are new and registered in the Remington names. I programmed my number and Zoe’s in the contacts. You can decide who else you want to transfer from the phones you have now.” 

Sam rolled the two devices in his hand. He powered up the simple flip phone and handed it to Dean when his name appeared on the display, then powered up the Palm Pilot that showed his name. The sound of Trotter’s truck coming up the driveway effectively ended further discussion as Casey and Zoe moved to the doorway.

“You need to get packed so once Trotter’s done with Sam we can bail. Do you think you can be ready to go in an hour?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Dean stood and began to gather their things. 

Trotter’s examination of Sam didn’t take long, but their tutorial on how to handle and care for Sam’s wounds was lengthy. The physician forced them both to repeat his detailed instructions, medicines, bandage changes, physical therapy, several times before he was satisfied. 

Alone again, Dean did one last sweep of the room looking for anything that may have been forgotten while Sam tracked him from the bed. Not finding any wayward items he zipped up the duffels and placed them near the door.

“I’m going to see what’s going on. I’ll be right back,” he smiled at Sam before walking into the living room.

Zoe sat at the kitchen table, hands folded, waiting with two oversized duffels sitting on the floor by her feet. Behind her head was a small square spot on the wall where the paint was lighter than the surrounding area. There used to be a picture of Zoe and Casey hanging there, taken at an Overlook Point on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Dean’s gaze danced over the living room and kitchen and found that all personal pictures that decorated the rooms to make it a home were down. His gut clenched when he realized, Zoe and Casey couldn’t come back. The enemy now knew where they lived.

“Zoe, I’m –,” he began but his apology sounded too inconsequential even in his own head. Zoe just flapped a dismissive hand in his direction, acknowledgment not acceptance. 

“Are we ready to go? Where’s Casey?”

“She’s briefing Trotter on the plan.” Zoe jutted her chin in the direction of the back door. Dean looked out the window to see the small girl and large man in a David and Goliathesque stand-off. Casey’s small hand landed on the physician’s arm, her lips moving around a few words, and the situation seemed to deflate with the nodding of his head. Casey turned to come back in the house and over her shoulder Dean saw the look of fear and worry on Trotter’s face as he watched her walk away from him.

_He loves her._

Zoe’s eye roll earlier now made perfect sense.

 

*****

 

When they came back in, duffels were gathered and loaded into the respective vehicles. It had been decided that Casey would head west, Zoe north and Trotter east while the Winchesters, correction the Remingtons, went south to warmer climates. The time finally came to move Sam who vehemently insisted he could walk under his own steam, so he was led to the car by a hovering Dean and Casey. He was supremely proud they only had to brace him twice along the way. Once he was settled, Dean walked around to the trunk to check the supplies while Casey sat on the bottom of the door jamb facing him. She’d brought two pillows from the bed and carefully used them to help Sam find a semi-comfortable position for his arm.

Sam’s hand came up to cup her cheek, large palm covering most of her face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Dean said you saw my vision.” She nodded her head. “There was a part of the vision that I heard that hasn’t made sense. I mean, the rest of it matched the whole I get kidnapped and everything, but this part doesn’t fit.” Casey’s eyebrows were raised at him expectantly and he realized he was rambling. “Near the end, I could have sworn I heard a baby crying.”

“Baby?” Casey’s confused tone made him feel silly for bringing it up. Apparently he’d heard it wrong.

“Never mind.” 

 “You take care of Dean, Sam. I’m glad you got what you wanted.” She smiled softly and leaned over to place a kiss to his lips. It was soft and sweet like the one shared in the kitchen and Sam felt utterly at peace. 

 

*****

 

Dean raised his hand to close the trunk lid when Casey appeared around the corner. She pulled a small leather pouch out of the pocket of her fatigues and unzipped it, allowing the sides to butterfly open. Inside, Dean saw three small hypodermic needles, each filled with a clear liquid. Two syringes had red tape around them while the third had blue.

“The red is morphine to control the pain while in the car. Any muscle will do, but it’ll take about twenty minutes to reach full effectiveness so don’t let the pain get too bad before you use it. I gave him one before we moved him so he should be good for a while.” She zipped the pouch shut and lifted Dean’s jacket to slip it in the inside pocket.

“What’s in the blue one?”

“A sedative. Inject it here.” She tapped his trapezius muscle close to the erotic space between neck and shoulder. “It’ll work fast, within a minute, and last for a couple of hours.”  Casey leaned up and wrapped her too warm hands around the back of his neck. She pulled him down and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that ached with unspoken _I’m sorry_ s and the finality of _good-bye_. 

Casey slid her hands from his neck to cup his face and kept her mouth close to his as she spoke. “No matter what, no matter what you see, no matter what you hear…don’t slow down and don’t turn around.  Get Sam out and keep him safe. Nothing else matters.” Dean’s snapped his head back and his eyes widened in understanding. His hands, that had come to rest on her hips during the kiss, tightened in protest. “He loves you, Dean. “ Her thumbs stroked his cheekbones. “More than I can say. Treat him well and he’ll be yours forever.” She smiled sadly and looked at Sam’s head visible over the headrest of the passenger seat.  She moved her hand down to press against the pouch hidden in the inner pocket of Dean’s jacket. “I’m counting on you.” She stepped away quickly, shouting a “Let’s roll” to the drivers in general.

Dean stood still, rooted to his spot by shock, roused only by the sound of doors slamming. Three engines started and idled patiently, waiting for him to take his place behind the wheel of the Impala. He hurried around to the driver’s side door and settled against the leather seat. Sam sat silently next to him in obvious discomfort but not in any pain.    


“You ready,” Dean asked and Sam answered with “Born ready.” Dean twisted the keys in the ignition and urged his girl forward, spraying gravel in his wake.  The four vehicles burst through the fence at the edge of the property, the Winchesters and Zoe going right, Casey and Trotter heading left. The brothers were in the lead and, as the Corvette passed the nearest driveway, a black Escalade pulled out behind them.  Speeding down the country road in the direction of the main highway, where they would separate to go their divergent ways, the Escalade tried to maneuver past Zoe by zigzagging back and forth between the oncoming traffic lane and the narrow shoulder. Each time, Zoe matched the movement using the Corvette to block their route. Dean tracked the vehicular dance in the rearview mirror, fingers tight on the steering wheel.

“Dean? What’s the matter?” Sam, unable to turn in his current condition, shifted over to look out the side mirror. “Oh God.”

“Everything is fine, Sam. We’re almost to the highway.” Dean’s voice was tight with stress as he stepped on the accelerator coaxing more speed from his metallic baby.

_Seems the demons didn’t like Casey’s plan. Fucking Winchester luck. Hopefully, the Remingtons were better blessed._

Dean recognized the roar from the engine of a muscle car pushed to its limits and his eyes shot back to the rearview mirror again. The red Judge countered the Escalade’s zag with a zig and passed the hulking machine, coming up even with Zoe. Dean’s foot lifted off the gas and he watched in awe as the side by side cars braked, the Corvette’s nose swung toward the shoulder and the Judge’s nose turned into the Corvette’s rear bumper, creating a barricade across the road. The girls stepped out as the Escalade ground to a halt, smoke rising from the tires as the back end fishtailed slightly. The Jeep appeared sideways behind the SUV and barred an escape the way they’d come. 

Dean’s feet worked on autopilot and pressed down hard on the brake pedal, bringing the Impala to a stop. The Escalade’s door opened and people, possessed by demons Dean assumed, flowed from it. It was like watching a clown car at the circus and Dean spared a tangential thought as to the passenger capacity of the Cadillac. He took a quick head count. Eight demons.

“Dean. Dean! We have to go back and help them. They’re outnumbered.” Apparently Sam could count too. Sam’s breaths were coming out in pants and his skin was graying from the stress. 

Dean looked in the rear view mirror at the scene: Casey, Zoe and Trotter, cars acting as shields, pointed their guns at the eight demons between them while the octet pointed similarly menacing weapons back. In a moment of sheer stupidity, Casey turned her head toward him and away from the danger. She mouthed words he shouldn’t be able to hear, but were somehow audible as if she whispered them in his ear. _I’m counting on you._

“Dean! We have to turn around. We have to help them!”

The first shot cracked through the air and like a dam breaking, dozens more followed. He closed his eyes and gave Sam’s pleading a deaf ear, reaching into his inside jacket pocket to slip out the small leather pouch Casey gave him. Dean ripped the zipper open and pulled out the blue syringe, uncapping the needle with his teeth.

“Dean! What are you doing? We have to go back. Now!”

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered and in one swift motion plunged the needle in Sam’s neck, right where Casey had shown him. Sam’s brief betrayed look, before his eyelids closed, pushed the unshed tears from Dean’s eyes. He unbuckled Sam’s seatbelt and guided his little brother’s head down into his lap, tenderly situating Sam on his right side. Dean spared one last glance in the mirror. He could see all but two of the demons were down and Trotter raining bullets at the survivors. On the closer side, he could see one of the girls, impossible to tell who from this angle and distance, alternating between shooting over the hood of the Judge and checking the motionless figure on the ground next to her. He pried his gaze away and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. Dean ran his fingers down the side of Sam’s face, put the car in drive and stepped on the gas.

 

*****

 

Dean stopped just south of Atlanta for gas. He was exhausted, his adrenaline high burned out over a hundred miles ago leaving him jittery and wrung out. Using Dean Remington’s credit card, he paid at the pump, refusing to leave Sam alone long enough to go inside. He gently lifted Sam’s head and placed it back in his lap when he slid back into the driver’s seat. Sam’s sedative had been wearing off for the last half hour and when Dean looked down, hazel eyes looked up.

“Did we get away?” Sam’s voice cracked.

“I think so.”

“Trotter, Zoe and Casey?”

Dean watched a kid, in the back seat of the Yukon parked at the pump on the opposite side of the island from them, arch and dive a toy plane in his hands with large swooping motions. Chubby toddler cheeks puffed out and lips pursed as he made the jet engine noises.  “Trotter was still up when we left. One of the girls was down.”

“Casey or Zoe?”

“Not sure. Casey, I think.” Dean was not sure when he’d looked back at the fight which girl was still shooting and which one was on the ground, but as the miles apart grew, he had a feeling about who laid there. A sense of knowledge…Casey was the still figure on the ground. 

Sam closed his eyes, tears springing to the corners, and turned to press his face into Dean’s stomach. The sobs caused the wounds in his chest and arm to shift stealing his panting breaths. Dean reached into his inner pocket again for the syringe he’d removed from the case so it would be easily accessible while driving. He quietly uncapped the needle, stoked Sam’s hair with his left hand while his right brought the needle down into the muscle of Sam’s thigh. Sam gasped a little at the sting, but didn’t jerk away. Dean started the car and pulled into a parking spot near the pay per use vacuum and air machine. He sat there, continually petting Sam’s hair, until the drug worked its way into his baby brother’s system, dulling the pain and lulling Sam into unconsciousness.

 

*****

 

Sam roused again as they passed a sign welcoming them to the Sunshine State. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his red, dry eyes with his right hand then sat up with a little help from Dean.  Once he was settled, sore arm propped on the pillows that Casey had put in the car earlier, _oh god Casey_ , he looked over at Dean.

“Where are we going to stop?” Sam had asked some variation of this question ever since he’d learned to talk, but this time it held a different meaning. This time when they stopped, their clothes would go into drawers and they could have pictures and things of their own to put on the walls.

Instead of answering, Dean grabbed a handful of maps from under the seat. He flipped through a few options before finding one with a picture of the peninsular state with Mickey Mouse standing next to it on the front. He tossed it in Sam’s lap with a smirk. “Pick one out, Sammy. Let’s go home.” 

 

 


End file.
